


Of Songs, Strawberries and Silver Nights

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Arguments, Awkwardness, Family, First Times, M/M, Politics, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Content, early years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Tirion in the Years of the Trees, Maedhros and Fingon are fast friends despite the growing tension within the house of Finwë. But there is another kind of attraction there too, and it can no longer be denied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Findekáno

Maitimo and I lie side by side on the warm riverbank, our hair mingling in the grass around our heads as we bask in the afternoon heat, still damp from our swim. We had spent the cooler morning hours in a bright clear pool where the river fell over a little bluff, shouting and splashing each other as if making up for the childhood we had not shared. This is our third day out of Tirion and I know we will have to make our way home later today, back to the court and our families and our responsibilities as princes. But for now at least, I am content forget that, and it seems Maitimo is too.

Maitimo’s eyes are closed, a small smile on his face, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye. We have taken our shirts off to let them dry on the grass nearby, and his skin glows pale in the brightness. I find myself admiring his light freckled skin, the angular, sculptural muscles beneath. It is no wonder, I think, that Nerdanel has often tried to capture him in marble. He seems quite made for it, or he would be if one could properly capture his marvellously rich copper hair. I regret, not for the first time and most probably not for the last, that I am a passable artist at best, and could certainly never do him justice in any medium I cared to try.

I have loved him for longer than I can remember. The realisation did not come to me suddenly one day; there was no flash of inspiration as others my age had claimed to have experienced. In recent years as my peers have found love one by one and I have discovered myself as an adult it has come accompanied by a quite exquisite pain, this love I have locked away in my heart for so long. With just a flicker of something almost dangerous, not to mention deliciously forbidden, that I nevertheless cannot quite put a name to.

“We should start going back soon, I suppose” says Maitimo absently, breaking into my thoughts, belying his words by not even opening his eyes.

“Back? We’ve got plenty of time still” I say. “What about that wine? Surely we can’t have finished all of it last night?”

“Findekáno!” His eyes flick open, but there is amusement on his face rather than reproach. “Drinking at this time?”

I grin. “My only excuse is that it’s summer. And the fact that there’s no one here to tell us not to. Besides, we’ll each be going home separately to our families tonight, so we may as well finish it before then. We won’t have a chance otherwise.”

“That seems like perfectly adequate reasoning to me” says Maitimo, grinning too. Sitting up, he takes a skin of red wine from his pack nearby and uncorks it, taking a swig before handing it to me. I copy him; the wine is strong, and as sweet and fragrant as summer. For a while we sit in companionable silence, passing the skin between us and taking sips of the wine that is steadily heating up to the temperature of my blood in the midday light. Soon enough my head begins to spin a little, and I lie back on the grass again beside Maitimo. A warm wind blows over my face, lifting my hair. Maitimo sneezes as one of my curls blows over his face, brushing it away, and I laugh.

“Your hair is appallingly wild today, Findekáno” he protests.

“It’s the water, and the heat. It will calm down when we get back to Tirion” I tell him. “If it doesn’t, I’ll just braid it.”

“Ah yes, Findekáno the pretending-to-be-respectable” he teases.

“Some days I don’t even have to pretend!”

We both laugh. “Talking of respectable, or otherwise” says Maitimo, a little later, “I wonder what my brothers have got up to in my absence? How likely is it, do you suppose, that Tyelkormo has got into some sort of trouble? Or Macalaurë? With a girl, most likely.”

“I think it is rather likely indeed. Going by past events, if it is Tyelkormo pursuing someone his rival is likely to get hurt. If it is Macalaurë, then he himself is likely to get hurt.”

Maitimo laughs. “Are you referring to that time he tried to climb up to the window of that dancer friend of his from Tirion and broke his leg?”

“I was indeed. And I know I shouldn’t find it quite so funny but…”

Maitimo smiles dryly. “Macalaurë can adopt the persona of the hopeless romantic in a second whenever he chooses to. He makes quite the stereotypical lovestruck poet when he decides he has found the one. Perhaps one day he actually will.”

“That’s a little harsh” I say uncomfortably. “I didn’t realise you were that cynical when it came to love.”

He shrugs, turning his head to look at me, “I am not always…” He tails off, looking at me rather sharply. I am suddenly acutely aware of the fact that we are lying next to each other, and of the space between our bodies. The way we are placed, the backs of our hands are just touching between us.

“Not always…?” I prompt, emboldened by the pleasant fuzziness in my head that the wine has brought with it.

“In my youth…” he speaks slowly, as if watching his words. “There were… but I’m sure you have heard…”

I have indeed heard rumours of his exploits, mostly vague, nonspecific scandals dredged up from my memories of my childhood years. The famously beautiful eldest grandson of the king was always bound to have a retinue of admirers that followed him about, people said, and sure enough Maitimo did. And yet, if in recent years he had taken it to the stage of returning the admiration or even further, he had certainly grown better at maintaining discretion, for now the rumour-mongers seemed to have transferred their fascination to his younger brothers.

“You are still in your youth” I remind him sourly. “And yes, I have heard. But I would like to hear it from you. I am your dearest friend and yet you never told me yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow, a look of something like surprise or alarm passing across his face for a fraction of an instant, before he regains his composure. He sighs.

“It is not a particularly interesting tale” he says. “I was rather young and stupid, much younger and less mature in my heart than I was in my body. Why, I was about the age you are now, although I certainly didn’t act like it.” He sees my frown. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” he blushes a little. “Anyway. There were a succession of… entanglements. None of which ended particularly well. I daresay no hearts were permanently damaged on either side, although at the time it seemed like the most important thing in the world of course.” He gives me that sharp look again. “But you must know how it is.” It is not a question, and yet there is a hint of an upwards inflection in his voice, as if this thought has only just occurred to him. I feel mildly put out, and fold my arms over my chest.

“As a matter of fact… I don’t… I haven’t yet…” I stammer.

He looks a little surprised. “Really? I mean, there’s no shame in that, of course. I didn’t mean to imply it, I was simply surprised. I would have thought… I mean, one with your…” he looks away, leaving the sentence unfinished, and turning a slightly darker shade of pink.

I shrug. “Some say wait for the person you really want” I reply. “Maybe I shall be waiting a while.” Visions of Maitimo contradicting me, and then sweeping me into a deep kiss before doing vague unknown sinful things to me right here on the riverbank flood into my mind unbidden, and I have to shake my head a little.

Maitimo looks pained. “Perhaps.”

We lapse back into silence. “Maitimo?” I ask after a while.

“Hmm?”

“Why do we never talk like this? About love. And I mean about the details, not the frustratingly vague account you just gave me. Usually, I mean.”

He looks abashed. “I’m sorry if you think I’m _frustratingly vague_. And today… it’s simply that there’s no one else here today to listen in.”

I frown. “But even at the palace we’ve had private talks, about all sorts of things. And you talk to your brothers, I know you do. I’ve heard you” I add. “You’re my best friend. Why would you not tell _me_ , of all people?”

“I suppose…” he considers this. “Well, for a while you were too young, only a child. It’s not really talk for children. But now…”

“…But now…?” I echo, my heart speeding up a little.

For a moment he looks as if he is about to say something. Then he sighs. “Now we should go home” he says, getting to his feet and swaying a little from the wine. He picks up his shirt from the ground, brushing the grass off it before putting it on. “I’m getting lightburn on my chest and arms” he says, by way of explanation.

I smile smugly, making a show of inspecting my own skin, which has tanned to a deep golden brown already, although it is still early in the summer. “Having a quarter Vanyarin blood has its uses” I tell him. “Besides, you tend to freckle, don’t you? Rather than burn?”

“Each one of these freckles” says Maitimo, “is a hard-won battle scar from a separate instance of lightburn, or so it feels sometimes” he smiles bitterly. “My grandfather Mahtan’s line clearly has skin that is not designed to cope with leaving the forge and stepping into the light. I would probably do better in the Outer Lands.”

“Ha! Imagine _you_ in the outer lands!”

We both laugh at that, although it was not much of a joke.

“We should go, Findekáno” says Maitimo at length, offering me both hands to pull me to my feet.

“Oh come on, we can stay a little while longer…” I clasp his hands, but instead of getting up myself, I pull him back to the ground. He loses his balance and falls painfully on top of me with a yelp. Hastily, he rolls off me, and we are both back on the ground, laughing and covered in grass stains. I jump to my feet with a grin. “Come on Maitimo! What are you doing down there on the ground? Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you sometimes, setting a bad example for your little cousin…” I shake my head at him, trying not to laugh. He gets to his feet again, and lunges towards me, all the awkwardness of the moment before temporarily forgotten, but I dart aside, cackling. I lean down and seize a handful of grass, throwing it at him. But he is too quick for me, and I soon find myself blinking grass from my own eyes, before my crumpled-up shirt hits me in the face not long after. “You have grass in your hair” I inform him, and he runs his fingers though his tangled red locks ineffectually. I brush at the front of his hair for him, and he steps away.

“I can do that just fine. Besides you’ve got more grass in your own hair.” I shake my head in an exaggerated way, making my hair stick out in a tangled mass and even getting a grudging laugh from Maitimo. “Honestly, what will your mother think when I bring you back to Tirion looking like that?”

“That I’ve had a quite standard trip into the countryside and a good time too, I would assume.”

“We should go,” he says after a while. “I mean it this time.”

I take a final swig of the wine. “Alright. But only if we go past that place where all those wild strawberries grow on the way back.”

Maitimo gives what he clearly intends to be a resigned sigh. “Lead the way, Fin.”


	2. Maitimo

“I win!” calls Findekáno triumphantly, as I fail to catch the strawberry he throws into the air in my mouth. Instead it hits me in the eye, and I blink as it bounces to the ground.

“Very well. I concede defeat this time” I say, catching him up. My head is spinning a little still. At our last stop we shared a skin of wine, passing it between us and swigging as we talked. “Anyway, we’re back now.” I look up, gesturing at the archway that marks the gate of my home. “And this is a stupid game to play, especially whilst walking.”

“Ha! You’re only saying that because you lost. I caught all the strawberries perfectly.”

I take another strawberry from the woven basket strapped to the outside of my pack and eat it thoughtfully.

“A fluke, I’m certain of it.” I am grinning now. “You had more wine than I did, so I put your victory down to luck, and me letting you win, when I could have easily beaten you on coordination. Be glad I didn’t take advantage, Fin.”

Findekáno looks at me sidelong and grins, raising an eyebrow in feigned shock. “Take advantage, Maitimo? You? You’re far too honourable, surely. You would never!”

“Oh really? Is that what you think?”

“Yes. Besides, I’d like to see you try.”

I raise my own eyebrow in turn. “Would you now? Is that a challenge?”

“Perhaps it is.”

We laugh a little at that, borne up by warm night air and the pleasant light-headed feeling the wine has left behind. We run the rest of the way to the archway, leaning against the stone as we get our breath back from our run, standing close together and gripping each other’s forearms. After a while, our laughter subsides. I pick a strawberry out of the basket and hand it to him. I find myself watching his lips as he eats it, stained slightly purple by the wine from earlier and red from the juice of the berry. I tear my gaze away quickly, shaking my head a little.

Silence falls between us, for the first time that day. Findekáno tilts his head questioningly, and opens his mouth to speak, then appears to change his mind. “What do we do now?” he asks, after a while.

I look up at the house, a scattering of windows lit by lanterns. My shoulders slump and I sigh. “Go inside, I suppose.” Then I brighten suddenly. “Do you want to come in for a while? You’re such a frequent house-guest that I rather think no one would mind. If you want something to eat with us… or not. If you want, we could just…” I realise that I do not know how I had been planning to finish that sentence.

He starts, suddenly looking up at me intently. I wonder, with an inexplicable flicker of nervous excitement, what meaning he read in my unfinished remark. “Maybe I will” his lips curve into a smile that is almost… knowing? “We could…” he licks his lips as he tries to think of what to say. He raises a hand, reaching out towards me and then appears to change his mind, drawing back and running his fingers distractedly through his hair as if he had meant to all along. His hand gets caught in a snarl in his dark curls and his brow furrows as he works it loose, not meeting my eye. His other hand, I notice, is still on my forearm. He seems to have forgotten it, although how I cannot comprehend. The points where his fingers touch my skin seem to be emanating heat, and yet I can feel the small hairs rising on my arms, though the evening is warm. I can feel my self-control beginning to slip, as my mind spirals in confusion at the sensations running through my body as I gaze down at Findekáno biting his lip thoughtfully. With some alarm, I pull my arm away, a little too quickly. We are left standing there in silence, hidden from the house by the archway. Our eyes meet and lock.

And then something new happens. I have never felt _awkward_ around Findekáno before. I have never been uncomfortable with his companionship, and never felt the weight of unsaid words between us. At first he was my eager pupil; I taught him much of what he knows. Then he was my dearest friend, my co-conspirator, as close as my brothers, and, I would sometimes let myself think heretically, closer. We share everything, pouring out our hearts to each other, staying up late into the night to talk, each entirely at ease with the other’s company.

But now there is something else there. Something that hangs like a thick, heady cloud between us. I realise in that moment that it has been there for some time, this cloud of unspoken… _what_? And for how long? I look down at him, forcing myself to hold his gaze, as I try to straighten out the thoughts that seem to be jumbled and tangled in my mind. Why do I feel uncomfortable? What is wrong with me? I look into his eyes and they are large and blue and deep, fixed on my own. He searches my face, a slight frown creasing his brow. I have a sudden urge to reach out and lightly run my finger over that little crease to smooth it away. His face is a little flushed from the wine and the running, his cheeks taking on a delicate shade of pink just visible against the golden-brown of summer, and I imagine how his skin would feel under my fingers, silken and warm and… _what am I thinking?_ I have touched Findekáno’s skin many times before. It feels like anyone else’s… I can feel my own face heating up as I stare down into those wide blue eyes. His pupils seem very large, or perhaps it is only the way the mingling lights of Laurelin and Telperion illuminate him from one side. Or perhaps it is only my imagination. There is a certain tension between us, once subtle, so subtle that I did not even consciously recognise it for what it was until this moment. Or perhaps, I think uncomfortably, I did not _want_ to recognise it for what it was. It is both the bond that holds us together and the seemingly endless barrier that now keeps us apart; it is maddening and strange and inexorable.

His mouth is slightly open as if he is about to speak, and I find myself noticing the curve of his full lips, marking the precise way their delicate pink colour merges into the red inside his mouth. _No no no stop thinking these thoughts_ , I am screaming at myself whilst contorting my mind in an attempt to avoid addressing what exactly I mean by _these thoughts_. And yet, I have known for a long time, I now realise. There was always something, something about him that made him different, alluring, his concerns becoming my concerns before I was even aware that I was regarding them as such. Without my knowledge or conscious permission, he had simply strolled into my heart and mind and cheerfully taken up permanent residence there.

“Maitimo. That conversation we had before…” he says, and his voice is slightly husky. My every sense feels heightened, trained fully on each minute detail of Findekáno. What is that look in his eyes? I wonder what my own face is doing, and realise that my mouth is hanging slightly open, like a fool. I close it, promptly. I feel myself blushing fiercely, and curse my pale, freckled skin once again. I swallow nervously. There is so much affection in the gaze of those wide blue eyes that it make my heart sing with joy, and the tips of my fingers are suddenly set tingling. They are the same blue eyes as those of the child that my cousin was; yet this laughing bright youth with wild dark curls and golden skin, with his incorrigible boldness and his easy companionship, is a different person entirely from that child. And yet he retains that childlike wonder at the world. There is not a drop of cynicism in Findekáno, and that is something that still takes me by surprise, in contrast to my own family. And he has grown beautiful, his thick lashes and blue eyes alluring as he blinks, the way his hair frames his heart-shaped face, the taut muscles of his neck and shoulders that are exposed by the wide collar of his shirt. I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, letting my nails bite into my palms, only dimly aware of the pain. The way my name sounds in his voice… I have always liked his voice, but even that seems subtly different now, although I cannot quite place how. _He is a child still_ , I can hear myself screaming inside my head. _He is in your charge._ But it is not true, and has not been true for many years now.

“Findekáno - ” I begin, my voice halting.

“These last few days…” he tails off, but he doesn’t need to go on any further. We have been away from home for several days, entirely alone, and we are neither of us the same as when we left. The trip was a leisurely one, and nothing of any particular consequence happened on it, nor were any words exchanged that one might pinpoint as the moment that something had changed between us. Nothing that would raise a single eyebrow in Tirion or Alqualondë. And yet, I knew we were closer now. Somehow, it seemed as if we had been unknowingly heading down a path to a particular destination, and we had reached a waypoint of some kind, although of exactly what kind neither of us could quite tell.

“I know” I reply, belatedly.

“Then you also…” I wince, for our conversation is quickly becoming a series of unfinished sentences. I sense this is as difficult for him to put into words as it is for me. Findekáno, bright, sociable Findekáno who can and will befriend anyone with a grin and a pleasingly worded jest, and I, the eloquent young prince known at court for his rhetoric, almost rivalling that of my father. Yet in this moment, words are lost to both us, banished by the presence of the other, our bodies inches apart yet seemingly separated by a burning void of air.

By way of answer I raise my hand, not quite sure of what I am doing and even less certain whether I should be doing it. I hold it up between us, with the palm facing Findekáno, and think how beautiful he looks in the silver and fading gold of the Mingling. He raises his own to meet it, his fingertips just touching mine. He follows me, I think. I should not be doing this, I should not be leading him astray… but no, another part of me says. This is his choice, as much as it is mine. The very idea sends a thrill through my entire body, or perhaps that is the effect of the touch of our fingertips, the merest brushing of skin against skin.

What comes next seems inevitable, the most natural thing in the world. Like being swept down a gentle stream, it is easier to simply let it happen, rather than try to fight it. I lean forward, just as he raises his face up to meet mine, his long dark lashes brushing his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed. When our lips touch, it is as if I am in the haze of a dream; I had, perhaps, known somewhere in the recesses of my mind what would happen, and yet the experience is raw and sharp and intensely sweet, my every sense heightened and utterly focussed. My own eyes are closed, but my mind is saturated with the scent of him, the taste and texture and warmth of his lips as they press against my own. I have had my share of kisses in my time, charming and enjoyable dalliances with the sons and daughters of the lords of the court, that even occasionally went further than mere dalliances. But this is completely different. When I kiss Findekáno I can feel my limbs weaken with even the lightest brush of skin against skin, the heat shooting through me from our lips as I draw him closer, enthralled. I raise my hand tentatively and deliberately, to cup his face, just as he brings his own arm up around my neck, the other slipping around my waist, sending a shudder of anticipation through me. He pulls me closer and I let him, entirely absorbed. I open my mouth a fraction, and he eagerly follows, matching my motions. _Is this his first kiss?_ I find myself wondering. I suppose it must be, and the thought of him with anyone else provokes in me a stab of jealousy. He is bold and eager, ever the ardent pupil. He lets his tongue flicker across my lower lip teasingly, driving me to distraction. _He learns quickly_ , I think. I grasp the back of his head, my fingers tangling in his hair, wanting to draw him near, wanting to close the gap between our bodies. Passion begins to blossom from my initial wariness as he opens his mouth fully, the kiss becoming urgent and hungry. Our tongues slip past each other as Findekáno pushes me backwards until I dimly realise I am leaning against the stone gateway, and yet he presses forward still against my body, eroding my resistance, drowning me in maddening desire. I hear a moan escape my lips as I draw his closer, our teeth clicking together in our haste.

But suddenly doubt surges up in me, paralysing. No, I should not being doing this. He is my cousin, and he is so young still. He may have officially reached adulthood at his coming of age last year, but he still looks to me for guidance, for direction in life… and this, I realise, is the wrong one. He may think that he is in control here, and I may delude myself that it is so, but if this should go any further it would amount to nothing more than the elder of us exploiting the younger. He does not know what he is getting himself into, he cannot know. And so, with a colossal effort of will, I push him away from me, my eyes springing open.

“Findekáno” my breathing comes in starts and my voice is sticking a little in my throat. “We cannot... we must not…” I take a deep breath, gritting my teeth as I steel myself to say what must be said next, while simultaneously trying to still the heat that is pulsing through my body. I am grateful that my loose tunic hides the growing bulge at the front of my breeches, although, I reflect, a moment ago he was pressed against me and so the damage is undoubtedly already done. I open my mouth to speak, but Findekáno beats me to it.

“I… I’m sorry. Was I too…” he is blushing and looking away from me, his hands splayed out awkwardly in mid-air. The expression on his face is one of such shame and anguish that I am pierced with pity for him, and immediately feel wretched for causing him such pain and humiliation.

“Fin. I didn’t mean…” I think for a split second of backtracking, of simply throwing my arms around his shoulders and claiming his lips in another kiss, with no words needed. Of lifting him off his feet and whirling him around, of carrying him into the house to my room, locking the door and then… _no_. I must not think like this.

“I know what you meant” he says, his voice a hollow whisper as he stares at his shoes. He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut before looking up at me, meeting my gaze for only a moment before he looks away again. “I should go” he mutters.

I sigh deeply. “Perhaps you should.”

He bites his lip. “Goodbye Maitimo.”

“Goodbye. I will see you…”

But I tail off. He is already turning away, to walk back down the path in the direction of Tirion. His steps are slow and measured, but he clutches the straps of his pack very tightly. I cannot see his face, and he determinately stares straight ahead, his chin raised high, his posture stiff and straight. I lean back against the arch, trying to take slow, steady breaths as I hear my pulse thudding in my ears. I watch him for a long time, as he makes his way down the gentle slope of the road to the city. When he thinks he is out of sight, he begins to run.

I do not know how long I stand there, my mind racing through what had just happened, replaying it again and again, and then going through a thousand versions in which I had said something different, or had not spoken at all, letting the consequences of each unspool themselves in my head. Findekáno’s face is ever present at the forefront of my thoughts, flickering between joy and shame and lust. I imagine him with his eyes squeezed closed, his mouth open in a cry of pleasure, pleasure that _I_ was the cause of… I scowl, trying to banish such thoughts from my mind as I run my fingers through my hair, thinking over what to do. Each time I unconsciously start a train of thought with _I wonder what Findekáno would think_ is a knife twist in my heart, as it begins to become clear to me how much I have come to rely on him. _To love him?_ I bury that thought deep, to be considered later, preferably much later.

I try to calm myself, to think more logically. Should I go after him? There is still time, I should be able to catch him before he reaches the city. _And then what will you do?_ A small, mocking voice in my head whispers. _Ply him with wine, strawberries and apologies? Take him right there and then by the roadside? Tell him you’re dreadfully sorry but your heart belongs to someone else? Pretend nothing happened?_

To these questions I have no answers. So I do what I know to be the most cowardly thing I can; absolutely nothing. I simply go home, smoothing my tunic and desperately trying to flatten my hair as I walk up the garden path. Mercifully, I do not meet anyone as I approach the house.

My luck, however, does not hold long. I am opening the door, slipping off my travel-stained boots and easing my pack off one shoulder, when I hear Macalaurë’s voice.

“Maitimo! You’re back! I thought you and Findekáno were going to be away for several days!”

“We _were_ away for several days” I grumble, unhooking the basket of strawberries and shoving it a little too roughly at my brother, rolling my eyes. “Thank you for noticing.”

Macalaurë looks puzzled and hurt, and I feel a twinge of guilt that I know will only become worse later. But he takes the lid off the basket, taking several strawberries and stuffing them all into his mouth at once. “Did something happen?” he asks, through a mouthful of berries. “Did you two have an argument?”

“No” I say shortly. Then I run up the stairs to my room, taking them two at a time, before he can ask any more questions that I do not have the energy to think of answers to now. I dimly register that Macalaurë is saying something about mother, but I ignore him for the moment, my mind elsewhere. When I reach my room I close the door with a little too much force and barricade it shut with a chair under the handle. I throw down my pack in the corner of the room, wheeling around and taking in my possessions in their familiar places, just as they were when I left. I feel a faint, absurd sense of surprise that nothing has changed, despite everything. _Perhaps_ , I think, _it is me that has changed_. The thought is not a comfortable one.

Perhaps it is only my imagination, but I suddenly begin to feel that it is hot and close in here; the very air seems to stifle me, making it hard to breathe. I throw the window wide open and strip off my tunic, pulling it over my head and throwing it into the corner in a loose ball. Then I fling myself onto my bed, lying on my back in only my breeches. It makes little difference. I know that I am behaving like a child, barricading myself in my room, throwing things and shouting at people, but in this moment I do not care. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see bright spots, my imagination running wild again, spiralling out of control as I consider yet more scenarios that might have been. I wonder how long I have been hiding this from myself, pushing my feelings for him to a dark corner of my mind and covering them over, folded away and buried deep. Abstractly, I wonder if it was inevitable that they would rise to the surface or if they might have remained smothered under layers of guilt and propriety if today had gone differently. And whether I even want that. _He is your cousin,_ I think desperately to myself. _You did the right thing. He may be upset now but soon enough he will find some nice girl and get married, and he will be the happier in the end._ The thought does not make me feel any better, in fact it causes a sudden rage to flare up inside me, unexpected and unwelcome. I seize the lantern on my bedside table and hurl it at the opposite wall, a sound somewhere between a frustrated shout and a growl escaping my lips. The lantern explodes into a thousand shivering splinters, the crash sounding too loud, making me wince as the lampstone rolls across the floor to settle in the far corner of the room. I make no move to fetch it. Instead I collapse back onto my bed, all my energy draining away, the sudden burst of rage dissipating as quickly as it came.

The next thing I am aware of is an insistent knocking at the door. I realise that I must have fallen asleep, although it cannot have been for very long, by the shade of the silver light streaming in through the open window.

“Maitimo!” I hear the doorknob rattle. “Are you all right? Let me in, Maitimo, I mean it.”

The voice is Amil’s. I sigh, resigning myself to the fact that she is probably not going to give up any time soon. I find myself lacking the energy to argue. I stand and pick my way through the broken glass to the door, wincing as I feel it cut my bare feet despite my caution. I remove the chair quietly, and open the door, forcing an unconvincing smile as I usher my mother in. A look of alarm flits across her face when she sees the broken glass, and the general air of disorder of both the room and myself. But she says nothing; she simply enters the room, nudging the door closed quietly behind her. She is carrying a tray, and on it is a lampstone, a large pot of tea and two cups, some small, flat honey cakes of the kind she knows are my favourite, and a bowl of grapes. She sets the tray on the table, and picks up my own lampstone from the corner. She sets both stones in the niche by my bed, casting our faces in their blue-white light. Then she sits down on the bed and pours two cups of tea before handing one to me, something about her motions signalling that I am not to argue. I do not, but simply sit down beside her and accept my tea, sipping it gingerly. It is peppermint, and although it has been brewing for too long it is somewhat comforting. My skin has cooled while I slept and I am shivering slightly now, so I wrap my hands around the cup gratefully. My mother picks up my tunic from the floor and wraps it around my shoulders like a cloak, placing one arm loosely around me. I make no move to stop her.

She does not speak for a long time, and neither do I. I eat a grape. Finally Amil gestures towards my feet, which protrude off the edge of the bed.

“Oh Maitimo. You’re bleeding. You should bandage that.”

“I know” I say, surprising myself with the huskiness of my voice. I take a cake and nibble the corner, as she sips her tea, but does not press me. Silence falls between us. It is not an uncomfortable silence, but Amil finally breaks it.

“Would it help to tell me what happened?”

I sigh. “Not really.” I may one day, I think, but now it is still too fresh, too new and confusing. “I promise I will tell you once I have worked out quite what it was that happened myself. And sorted it all out in my head. So perhaps never.”

She smiles slightly, one corner of her mouth quirking upwards a fraction. “Fair enough.” She pauses for a moment, and then rolls her eyes. “Tyelko has decided you are lovesick. He thinks you’ve found a new girl.” She sees my face, and I think that I have never been more grateful to be so misunderstood. She smiles. “ _Whether or not_ that is correct, you realise it’s probably going to get out at some point, do you not? Especially if you go about slamming doors and being rude to people. You know better, Maitimo.”

I stare into my teacup dejectedly. Suddenly the honey cake I am eating tastes like sand in my mouth.

Amil gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Oh now, Maitimo, I’m sorry. Truly, I was just worried about you. But you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I meet her eyes for the first time, taking comfort from her mere presence. “I know. I’m sorry too, for my… behaviour.”

She laughs lightly. “Think nothing of it. I daresay I have seen far worse in the past” – she grimaces – “and probably will be again in the future. But until such a time, I am here to help, if you need it.”

“I did need it.” I try to put as much sincerity into my voice as I can, for it is true. “Thank you, Amil.”

Suddenly Macalaurë pops his head in through the door, and bounds over to the bed, sitting down on my other side and hugging me. “Feeling better, Nelyo?”

I cannot help but smile. “Much” I tell him wearily.

“I’m not normally one to offer advice” he says. “Given my own track record, and the fact that I don’t know anything at all about the situation.” He shoots me a cheerful grin. “But I do know what indecision looks like. Do what you think you should do. And then, if that fails… do whatever _you_ want to do. And Eru damn the consequences.”

I cannot help but smile. “What is this, a secret midnight conference about my life? But thank you, brother, for that truly terrible advice.”

“Glad it was appreciated.” He pats me on the shoulder genially. “There’s more where that came from. Just you wait and see.” He pauses for a moment. “Did you argue with Findekáno over it?” he burst outs. “Whatever… or _who_ ever… _it_ is?”

I start involuntarily, for he has hit uncomfortably close to the mark. It is with some relief that I see his knowing look, and I realise that he thinks he has struck it truly. Good.

“Maitimo, you know all of this will blow over, don’t you?” says Amil. “If you’re truly both in love with the same person, that is. He’s so young, it’s probably just a brief infatuation, and it will pass soon enough. Be patient with him. Don’t let it ruin your friendship.” She thinks for a moment. “Still. I don’t think it will. It would take more than that to turn the two of you against each other, I’m certain of it.”

I grit my teeth involuntarily, and my hand tightens on the cup.

“Anyway” says Macalaurë blithely, “the summer festival is in three days. You’ll see him then at the palace ball, and you can talk.” He smiles. “My guess is that you’ll miss him terribly by then anyway.”

“Mmm” I say noncommittally, my thoughts churning. I had forgotten the festival, but now it looms large in my mind. It seems, irrationally, as though it is my chance to resolve this, for good or ill.

“But in the meantime” says my mother firmly, breaking into my reverie. “You should go to bed for a few hours, before the twins wake up again. Take the chance for some sleep. You look like you need it. Come on Macalaurë, let your brother rest.”

Indeed she is right. My head feels like a sack of sand, my eyes prickling with tiredness even after my fitful, interrupted sleep. “You’re right” I say, draining my cup and placing it back on the tray, thinking of my baby brothers’ tendency to both wake crying in the early hours of the morning. But I know that however hard I try I will have little sleep tonight.

 


	3. Findekáno

I am running, my pack bouncing up and down painfully against my spine, as I hold the straps tightly to my shoulders. I know I should stop. _You cannot run all the way to Tirion_ , says a small rational voice in my head, a voice that sounds maddeningly like Maitimo’s, I realise now. My face glows with shame, and I can feel hot, childish tears starting in my eyes; I curse them. But my body burns with a restless energy that makes me want to run forever, to run and run and never stop until my legs ache, and my heart is drowned into some measure of numbness.

But I know I cannot keep going forever, not at this pace. After a while my burst of energy begins to diminish, and my breath starts to come in painful gasps. The road slopes gently downhill, and I stumble under the heavy pack, my leg muscles weak and shaking. I trip on a stone and fall painfully on the unforgiving paving slabs of the carriage road, skinning a knee and the palm of one hand. I grimace. I will have bruises too in the morning, I know, and the knee of my breeches is torn and bloody. I sit down with a sigh, wincing as I pick grit from my palm. Taking my water bottle from my pack, I pour a little on my hand and knee and wipe the dirt away as best I can. The sting is distracting, which is good, I suppose. I take a swig of the water, briefly contemplating the wine skin which is not completely empty, before stuffing it back deep down into my pack. The taste of the wine is still on my lips, just as it was on _his_ lips, and I do not want to taste it again right now. I lick my lips, and it seems as though the imprint of the kiss is still there, burned into my skin. It is a strange thing; then I felt quite clear-headed, but now I am beginning to notice the effects of the wine again. I feel slightly dizzy, the world tilting a little at the edges. Or perhaps that is only my state of agitation.

Maitimo’s face seems to swim before my eyes, beloved and so familiar to me in every minute particular, down to the last freckle. I sit cross-legged on the ground by the road side, the events by the gate arch replaying themselves over and over in my head. The precise words we had exchanged, our laughter as it died away. Maitimo’s face, his hair falling forward a little as he looked down at me, the top of his head catching the last light of Laurelin and glowing brighter than richly burnished copper. Those quicksilver eyes, the way they appeared almost a pale shade of violet in some lights, white-blue in others, and sometimes grey as slate, changing like the weather. But today they had been silver, so very silver bright and keen, and fixed on me alone. A slight blush had risen high on his freckled cheeks, and though there was a hint of worry and apprehension around his eyes, his face was suffused with a bittersweet longing that drove me halfway to madness to behold. I could barely believe what I was seeing, that my… _affection_ was returned. The affection that I had locked away in my heart for so long, for most of my life in fact, the affection that I had resolved never to speak of to anyone as long as I lived. How my heart had leapt when he leaned in to kiss me, those lips that I had grown more and more accustomed to guiltily staring at over the last few years pressing against mine in something very different to all the childish kisses that had gone before, so different that it astounded me that the same word was used to name both.

I might have known. I am not sure quite _what_ I might have known yet, but I should not have been so naïve as to think that there would not be complications. Maitimo has always been one for complications. He is quite the perfect gentleman, never letting a trifle like his own happiness stand in the way of doing what he sees as the right and responsible thing, in every situation. It would utterly infuriate me in anyone else in the world, but as it is Maitimo it is merely the cause of a world of suffering on my part. Maitimo cannot know, I think, he must never know, what pain he has caused me. I am determined not to inflict that knowledge on him, at least.

I sigh, feeling drained but somewhat calmer, the sting starting to recede from my knee and palm. I gulp the remainder of the water and get to my feet shakily, looking up at the sky to try to guess the time. I start to trudge the rest of the way back to Tirion, resigning myself to the fact that Maitimo will not leave my thoughts tonight. Not that I want him to. I know that if I actually manage to get to sleep, my dreams will be full of him. His face, his lips against mine, the smell and taste of him and the feeling of his long, clever fingers knotted in my hair. Until now my sleeping mind has never had anything solid and real to base the dreams on, so they have an ethereal floating quality, but tonight, I know, it will be different. And then, inevitably, the dream will move on into the realm of fantasy, and in my head we will do things that I have only heard about in the gossip of the older sons of the lords of the court, who talk idly by the palace fountain on warm evenings. The things that I never dared, as I was growing up, to talk to Maitimo about, lest my face burn scarlet and the trembling youthful ardour in my voice betray me. Listening to those conversations about surreptitious liaisons, whilst thinking of Maitimo, had set off the first stirrings of lust within me, even before I had learned the meaning of the word. Nevertheless, I have to admit that I do not begrudge his presence in my dreams, though it will tear back open the fresh wound of my humiliation.

Hitching my pack more securely over my shoulders, I increase my pace a little. Despite my run earlier, I know it will be a long road home tonight.

 

\--------

 

I stare into the mirror, dragging the brush through my hair irritably. It is the day of the palace ball; the day I will see Maitimo again. I had spent the morning pacing my room like a caged animal, possible scenarios running through my head as I had repeatedly gazed at the clock apprehensively, the minutes and hours dragging by painfully slowly.

Yet now, it seems, I am running late. My hair is still slightly damp from my bath, and I tug at a knot in it angrily with the brush. The day is humid, so I begin to braid back my unruly curls, twisting in lengths of crisp new gold ribbon as I go. The gold will go well with the coat I will wear tonight, heavy dark blue brocade with gold embroidery on the sleeves and a high, stiff collar. Completely inappropriate for the time of year, of course, but it has a weight and solidity to it that steadies my nerves, giving me the look of a confident and dignified prince, rather than an anxious, jumpy boy on the very cusp of adulthood. Also, Maitimo once told me it made me look older, and I do not even bother trying to pretend to myself that this has nothing to do with my choice.

My hand slips and a braid comes undone. I curse loudly, unravelling it and starting again. Through the window I can see the carriage already waiting outside the house, the one that will carry us to the palace. I can just make out Turukáno opening the door and taking his seat inside, and I grit my teeth. I finish braiding my hair; it is rather too tight, but I do not have time to start again now. I seize my boots that stand in the corner, the high ones of soft tan leather, tripping over the corner of the bed as I pull them on hastily. After a futile attempt to straighten my coat sleeves, I run down the stairs two at a time, in a decidedly flustered and un-princely manner.

My parents and siblings, it turns out, are waiting for me outside. Turukáno glares at me as I get into the carriage, but says nothing. Irissë merely gives me a long, calculating look. I stare determinedly out of the window as we drive through the city, and although I take part in my family’s conversation, if anyone had asked me what they had said or what I had replied afterwards, I would not have been able to tell them.

I am jolted from my reverie by Irissë playfully swatting my cheek with her fan.

“ _Ai!_ Irissë, what was that for?”

“We’re here” she says, and I see that the carriage has indeed come to a stop outside the palace. “My, you’re distracted today, Finno” she continues, scrutinising my face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” I say, uncomfortably. “I am fine.”

“I never suggested anything other. But perhaps you are expecting to meet someone in particular here today…?"

I open my mouth and close it again. “Merely our cousins” I say stiffly. My sister has become alarmingly perceptive recently.

Irissë smiles at that. “Of course.” She offers me her arm, and I take it. “Shall we?”


	4. Findekáno

Before the ball there is to be a formal dinner. Since we are, inevitably, somewhat late, the guests are already beginning to take their seats as we arrive. But there are still some milling around in the entrance hall, and I crane my neck, trying to see over their heads to spot the top of Maitimo’s bright copper head breaking above the throng. As we enter the mirrored dining room, I see him, at first reflected in one of the mirrors. I turn, and there he is, already taking his seat at the High Table. He is dressed in a long-tailed waistcoat of pale grey velvet, beautifully tailored and embroidered with copper thread to match his hair and his circlet, over a crisp white shirt with loose, elegant sleeves, gathered at his wrists. He looks quite as serene, graceful and unruffled as usual. Then, almost as though he knows I am watching him, he turns towards me and catches my eye, holding my gaze for a moment and giving me a tentative smile. I take a deep breath and start to go to him, but before I can reach his seat, a gong sounds the signal that the King’s greeting speech will start in a minute, and I must hastily find my own seat, tripping a little over my own feet and muttering a hasty apology to uncle Arafinwë as I nearly knock him over, just as grandfather Finwë is standing up to start speaking. 

My seat is almost at the opposite end of the high table from Maitimo’s. All through dinner, I make myself sip my wine and push food around my plate, trying not to shoot glances too obviously in his direction. I fidget, buttoning and unbuttoning my coat distractedly, but eventually leave the buttons undone. It feels unnaturally hot in the dining room suddenly.

I cannot stop myself any longer; I look back up at Maitimo. He is seated next to Artanis, and seems to be deep in conversation with her. There are those who say that young Artanis will grow up to be the most beautiful of the house of Finwë, but I cannot comprehend how anyone could think that, not while they had eyes to see her sitting next to Maitimo. I cannot see how she could ever come close to his beauty. They laugh together, and my heart squeezes in my chest. At one point, I catch Artanis looking at me intently, and quickly concentrate on my plate. She is very young, only my sister's age, but even under normal circumstances I cannot help but feel a little uncomfortable around Artanis, although I could never quite say why.

At long last, the feast comes to an end. There are more speeches, but the words pass me by entirely. Then the guests are invited to move to the ballroom, and I let out my breath in a sigh that is part relief and part absurd nervousness. I have never felt _nervous_ around Maitimo before; I have felt plenty of other things, but this flicker of apprehension is new, and I find I do not like it in the least. Artanis whispers something in Maitimo’s ear, before going to join Irissë on her way to the ballroom.

Maitimo is left staring rather distractedly into space, and I make my way over to him at last, walking as if in a daze. When he sees me, the smile that crosses his face momentarily is completely genuine, and for an instant radiant as Treelight before he frowns and then manages to rearrange his face back into a more collected expression.

“Fin. I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk to you beforehand, but… anyway…” he tails off awkwardly, twisting his hands together before him. “Have you been having a good evening so far?” The smile is most certainly gone from his face now, and he sounds concerned.

I shrug. “Good enough, I suppose. I couldn't even tell you what I ate for dinner though. And you?”

"The dinner was roast pheasant."

I give a wry smile. "So it was." I look him straight in the eye and speak quietly. "Are we going to stand here and discuss roast pheasant all night?"

"You did ask."

"Maitimo. You know that's not what I meant."

“I…” he scrutinises my face for a long time, and I feel my stomach flutter again as those exquisite silver eyes seem to pierce right through me. “Fin” he says finally, sounding a little weary. “I think you and I need to have a... conversation... with just the two of us. To address what happened the other day, I mean. Walk with me?” he offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead me back towards the entrance hall, away from the dense press of guests heading to the ballroom.

“Are you going to tell me that you regret it?” I ask after a while. “Because _I_ do not, but…” I swallow hard. “I understand if you do.”

We find ourselves in a small chamber that is barely more than an alcove off the entrance hall, and he stops, turning to face me. “Findekáno” he says. “I should never have let that happen. I mean, not that I didn’t…” he looks pained. “I should never have kissed you. It was… wrong of me. As your cousin. As your older cousin, who is supposed to be setting an example. I… _used_ you, Findekáno, and for that I am sorry.”

“ _You_ kissed _me_? You _used_ me?” I can barely contain my disbelief and rage at his words. “Maitimo, I thought we were past all that. I have not been a child for years, so don’t you dare suggest that I am too young to have... to have _agency_ , or the ability to decide what – or _whom_ – I want. If you don’t feel the same way, at least do me the courtesy of telling me plainly.”

He looks a little taken aback. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Fin. You think you have thought this through, but you haven’t. There are always… complications…” He looks hurt, and I remember the stories I have heard of his past romantic entanglements with a stab of jealousy. “But for us they would be multiplied a thousand times. I don’t want to bring that on you.” He looks down at his feet, considering, and then looks me in the eyes again. “I think I... I think I love you," his voice sounds strangled, "and not only in the usual way for cousins, nor is it a mere passing thing, a youthful infatuation. And for that reason, I owe you better.”

I realise that my mouth is a little open, and I close it hastily. “You…? Maitimo, you think what I feel about you is a _youthful infatuation_? Is that it?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean that.”

“Listen to me. I have loved you for my whole life, practically. For as long as I can remember, and probably even longer, since before I could even put a name to the feeling. So don’t talk of bringing this on me. Yes, it’s you that’s the cause of it - ” I reach out and lay my hand gently against his cheek, and he does not move away from my touch “ – but you cannot simply remove yourself from my heart, from my thoughts and my life. Certainly not if, as you just said, you feel the same.” My head is still spinning from his confession of love, a little drunk on triumph and hope, clinging to those words despite the ones that had followed. _I love you._ That is all that matters. 

“Oh, Fin” he says with some desperation, running his fingers through his hair. “You don’t know what you are saying. Your father… my father…” he gestures back towards the hall. “If anyone had heard what you just said it would rip our family apart.”

“Why must it? Can it not bring us together?” I frown. “And what if I don’t care?” My voice comes out sounding a little more petulant than I had intended.

“Please” he says, closing his eyes and gently removing my hand from his cheek. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” He holds my hand in his for a moment, leaving a tender, brushing kiss across the knuckles. Then he sighs and lets it go. He starts to turn away, the pain on his face raw and apparent, causing me a stab of anguish of my own.

“Maitimo…” I do not know what to say after that, so I simply act, with little conscious thought. It feel almost detached, as if I am watching myself from a distance, but at the same time it seems the most natural thing in the world. I reach out and grasp the lapels of his waistcoat with both hands, turning him around so that he is facing me again, and kiss him on his slightly parted lips. He lets out a tiny gasp of surprise, breathy and deceptively vulnerable, but then leans into the kiss, pressing his body closer to mine. One of his hands slips around my waist even as it had the first time, and in answer I draw him closer still, his hair tickling my face.

 _Be bold,_ I tell myself. _Be valiant and brave, for if you are not you will later regret what may have been._ I turn my head to the side and kiss him more deeply, his tongue slipping gracefully past mine and the heat of his mouth and of his skin soaking into me once more. I slip my hands under the loose collar of his shirt, lightly kissing the corner of his mouth as I have seen young lovers in Tirion do. Once, I even saw Maitimo kiss a girl behind the palace outhouses, and I watched in fascination as he trailed kisses down her throat. I watched for as long as I dared, for as long I could stand, before I ran away in confusion and pain, although I was too young to understand why then. Now I copy the motion, starting at his jaw and kissing the warm, smooth skin of his neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of him. He lets out a small whimper in response, and I feel once again that burst of triumph. But then he is pulling himself away from me once again, clasping his own hands together in front of him and stepping backwards hastily, with none of usual grace.

“I’m sorry Fin” he says simply. “I cannot do this. I must not. Please don’t think badly of me for it. Please.”

“Maitimo, listen to me, I…” but I don’t finish the sentence. He has already turned on his heel and is hurrying from the hall.


	5. Maitimo

_It is me running this time_ , I think guiltily as I step outside into the main courtyard, leaning backwards against one of the grand stone columns that flank the palace doors. My mind jumps inevitably to Findekáno as I had last seen him moments before, his mouth a little open in surprise, one hand slightly outstretched towards me. I curse my selfish stupidity for encouraging him. I tip my head backwards against the stone, closing my eyes and trying to erase his face and his voice and what his kisses do to me from my mind, but it is no good. I touch my fingers to my lips, running them lightly over my jaw and down my neck, as if I can simply wipe away the memory, but it is no good. This, I realise at once, will not be like anything that has gone before. It is not to be simply a passing fancy, a phase or a light-hearted summer romp. The knowledge comes with a heavy inevitability, as if I had known all along, and yet I feel somewhat unburdened by the realisation. What it truly may be, I decide that I do not care to speculate now. Instead, I think about the present. Eventually, my eyes flick open, and I stand up straight. I have come to a decision.

I walk slowly and deliberately back towards the doors, holding my head high and trying not to break into a run as I cross the threshold.

But all at once, something heavy comes hurtling into me, and I lose my balance momentarily, teetering backwards and almost falling. I fling my arms out instinctively towards the person who has collided with me, and I see that it is Findekáno, his face rapidly turning red and his words coming in a rush.

“Maitimo! I was just running to catch you. I didn’t know where… _if_ you had gone. I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? I just wanted to talk.”

“Don’t worry” I reply, straightening my circlet. “I’m fine.” I pause and take a deep breath. _Here it is, the point of no return._ “I wanted to talk to you too, as a matter of fact. Again, I mean...”

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes shining. “Findekáno” I begin. “I feel as though I’ve been horribly condescending, and well… simply wrong. You mean too much to me to do you that disservice.” I take his hand, suddenly assailed by doubts, but I determinedly push them away. Looking him straight in his wide blue eyes, I carry on speaking. “Whatever _complications_ you and I may face, whatever hurts and difficulties, they will, at least for me, be entirely worth it.”

He beams, then laughs with shear joy and rolls his eyes at me. “ _Finally_ you understand!” Then he tilts his head up to kiss me again, and as our lips meet clumsily I pull him into my arms, momentarily heedless of anyone who may see us. After a moment he pulls back, biting his lip a little and chuckling, his forehead pressed against my own. “What?” I ask anxiously.

“Nothing, I just… is this even the same Maitimo, the one who always cared so desperately about propriety? Are you certain someone hasn’t abducted you and taken your place?”

“If they had” I whisper against his lips “they would not have managed to resist you for this long. But if they had, I should have done my best to pursue them and _stop_ them, for I could not stand it if anyone _else_ were to be here with you now, instead of me.”

“Good” he says cheerfully, before kissing me lightly again. I place one of my hands at the base of his spine and the other behind his head, pulling him closer, even as he arches his body in towards mine, deepening the kiss. Tentatively at first, my hands roam over Findekáno’s body under his coat, feeling the fabric of his shirt and trousers and the firm, tense muscles just beneath. At the same time, he is running his hands over my chest, starting to unbutton my waistcoat and then my shirt, then tentatively going to my backside, giving it something that is not quite a squeeze, or not _yet_ at least. The beginnings of arousal are pulsing through me, a growing heat in my groin, and I can feel that the kiss is having a similar effect on Findekáno as our bodies press close together.

Suddenly there is a sound behind us from the door, and panicking a little, I hastily pull away from Findekáno, dragging him clumsily behind the nearest column. We stand there with our backs to the stone, hand in hand, looking at each other and listening intently. We hear a giggle and the clink of glasses, then some muffled conversation, then silence. Findekáno stifles a laugh. “Perhaps we’re not the only guests who have found something better to do than go to the ball.”

“Sssh! They’ll hear you!” I hiss, but I cannot keep the grin off my face. My heart pounds with exhilaration and nervousness combined. I make up my mind. “Come on. Let’s go find somewhere of our own.”

Findekáno swings our joined hands between us, his eyes glittering and his lips quirking upwards into a conspiratorial and extremely disarming smile. “Lead the way.”

 

\-------

  
I lose track of time after that. It could be minutes or hours we spend running hand in hand and breathless with laughter through the palace’s myriad courts and galleries, upstairs and downstairs and along wide, mirrored corridors. We steal kisses in deserted alcoves or hallways, falling over each other’s feet to make our escape when we hear someone coming around the corner.

Finally we reach the apartments set aside for the family, the music from the great hall now faint and far away. Findekáno and I are in each other’s arms, our bodies pressed close together again in a thick patch of shadow in a deserted corridor, and his hand strays to the bulge at the front of my trousers. I let out a little gasp, kissing his jawline, before reluctantly pushing him away again. “My parents and brothers and I were going to stay at the palace tonight” I say, standing with my back to the door of the room I usually use on my visits to the palace and placing my hand on the doorknob. Suddenly I feel absurdly awkward once again. “Would you like to - ”

“Yes” says Findekáno emphatically, interrupting me before I can finish my sentence. I watch his face as he places his hand on top of mine on the doorknob and quietly opens the door. I know where this is heading; I wonder vaguely for how long I have known it. It saves me, at least, from wondering once again whether it is truly right.

The room is half dark, the light of Telperion coming in through the window at a sharp angle, so I rummage in the bag I abandoned earlier at the foot of the bed in search of a lampstone. Taking the cover off, I set it on the table. I can feel Findekáno’s eyes on me all the time, but I force myself not to hurry. Standing up, I turn towards him, slowly and deliberately. I raise my hand to his cheek, running the backs of my fingers lightly over his skin. I touch his hair, my fingers tangling amidst his wild dark curls that are beginning to escape from their braids. I have to keep reminding myself that this is real, and that I have no cause to feel guilt.  “Findekáno” I say. “I know what you will say, but… it’s not too late for you to walk away from this room, from me. Are you certain that you want this?”

He frowns, hurt and confusion crossing his face. “Maitimo, if you don’t feel the same as I do… but I was certain you did!”

“Yes! Yes of course, I spoke as truly as I have spoken to anyone when I said I loved you. You’re everything to me, and you drive me mad with longing, I hope you know that. But I should hate it if you were not completely happy and comfortable. With everything we do.”

“Maitimo, my sweet ridiculous worrier, I trust you absolutely.”

I grimace. “That’s partly what worries me.”

He stares up into my eyes unblinkingly, looping his arms around my neck and closing the door behind us with his foot. “Well don’t let it. I want this.”

I smile. “I’m glad.”


	6. Findekáno

I quiver with anticipation as the door closes, glimpsing the bed out of the corner of my eye with a slight sense of nervous disbelief that I am even in this situation. Maitimo and I are standing, half twined together and half leaning against each other, in the corner of the room next to the door. His kisses grow less restrained, wilder now that there is no possibility of anyone seeing us. Gently, tenderly, he kisses my throat, and I press my face into his warm hair, inhaling its candlewax scent, and I feel my knees go slightly weak, my erection pressing painfully against the inside of my trousers.

Maitimo’s hand reaches downwards, touching me through my clothes and I let out a muffled hiss of appreciation and annoyance at the layers of fabric that separate our bodies. My coat drops to the floor as Maitimo slips it from my shoulders, while I kiss his neck, harder than he had done, sucking at the skin a little because somehow it feels right. I am rewarded with Maitimo muttering my name and letting out an endearing little gasp. I struggle with the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt one-handed, my other hand exploring his firm, endlessly intriguing thighs, pulling one of his legs up and around my hips. He smiles against my lips, helping me with the buttons, and then gently unfastening my own. Maitimo, I think to myself, has always been one for doing things properly and in the right order. The lacings on our trousers prove a little more difficult in our eager haste, but soon his hand is dropping beneath the layers of my clothes to lightly caress my hardened cock. I slip my own hand downwards, holding him and touching experimentally to see how he reacts, wondering uncomfortably how apparent it is that I have no experience. I smile to myself at the little moan my actions elicit, before Maitimo claims my lips again in an even deeper kiss. I arch my body into his at the sensations that are beginning to pulse through me in earnest.   

We have fallen onto the bed in each other’s arms now, our clothes tangled loosely about us, half on and half off. I pull Maitimo closer to me, rolling us over so that we are on our sides, looking into each other’s faces between kisses that are increasingly urgent and hungry as we touch each other, our legs entwining with each other and the bed sheets. Maitimo’s eyes flicker open and closed and open again, his pale lashes casting long, spidery shadows on his cheeks in the lamplight. “Fin…” he murmurs. “You’re perfect. Better than perfect.”

In answer to that I push him backwards against the bed, kissing him hard, letting my tongue explore his mouth. Then I trail kisses down his jaw again, over his neck, pushing his open shirt over his shoulders so that I can reach his perfectly muscled chest. I long to kiss every inch of his body, to neglect not even a single freckled inch of smooth warm skin. I have reached about Maitimo’s collarbone when he realises what I plan to do, and smile to myself at the small gasp I elicit from him. Meanwhile, I kiss his chest, his stomach… I feel a flicker of nervousness as I reach his groin, pushing his trousers down hastily and kissing the place where his thigh meets his hip. What I am about to do I have only heard tell of, in whispered tales of scandalous (but nevertheless rather vague) liaisons of others. Still, I have never been one to avoid trying something at the risk of failure. I breath deeply and then take him in my mouth, tasting him and swirling my tongue briefly around his head before pushing forward, bobbing my head up and down a little. Maitimo’s hands are wound in my hair, and their grip tightens a little and I feel a sense of satisfaction as he lets out another small gasp of pleasure.

“Findekáno. Wait.” My heart sinks as he chokes out the words and I can feel my cheeks heating up in a blush as I straighten myself back out to look at him, a little too quickly.

“I… did I do it wrongly…?”

He looks genuinely horrified for a moment. “No! No you didn’t.” Then his voice becomes velvet-soft and playful, and I relax. “I just… wanted it to be you. Just lie back on the bed. Let me…” but then his words trail off as his mouth is otherwise occupied.

I close my eyes, biting my lips to keep from crying out as I feel his lips and tongue on me. I grasp Maitimo’s shoulder with one hand, a fistful of the bedsheets with the other.

“Mai… Maitimo…” I manage. I can feel waves of pleasure lapping over me, and it is as if I glimpse the inevitable final release, although it is still far off.

But then, all too quickly, he stops, his mouth curving into a maddening smile as he looks up into my face. He kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips.

“Later” he says, as if guessing my thoughts. He brushes a curl of hair from my face gently, kissing me again and pressing the full length of his body against mine. “We will have plenty of time, I think, for everything. But now…”

My eyes widen involuntarily as I understand his intention. “Yes. Yes we will. Teach me everything you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes glittering. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Very well.” He pauses, the smile falling from his face momentarily. “But… you’ve never done this before. And if I should hurt you by accident - ”

“ - Then I shall tell you. But I don’t think you will.” I trust him implicitly.

The smile returns, lighting his face from within. “Tell me what you want.”

I kiss him on the tip of his ear where it protrudes through his hair and he quivers. I kiss his upper arm even as our bodies rub up against each other, shuddering with denied need. “What I want is _you_ , Maitimo.”

“Then you shall have your wish.”

He places our bodies so that I am lying on my back and he is just above me, holding me gently with one hand under the small of my back as if I am fragile and breakable. Made bold by the blood pulsing in my ears and his teasing and false starts, I grasp his shoulders, pulling him towards me a little more roughly than I mean to in my enthusiasm. With a muffled squeak, he loses his balance and falls on top of me and our erections are pressed together. Pain and pleasure explode in me and I let out a whimper. Maitimo gathers me towards him again, lying on our sides now, letting his cock slide over mine in his hands as the friction drives me wild. I feel myself close to release now, and Maitimo seems calm, his touches slow and almost languid, but I can tell that he burns with quite as much lust and elation as I. Yet his hands tremble almost imperceptibly, and I realise is quite as nervous about this as I am.


	7. Maitimo

The sound of Findekáno gasping out my name as he climaxes is quite the sweetest sound I have ever heard, and it causes me to come right along with him, a warm stickiness between our bodies as our skin cools and our breathing slows. He clings to me, breathing heavily, his face sheened with sweat and buried in my neck. I hold him tightly. “I love you Fin” I whisper after a while.

“I love you” he says. “Always have. Always will. It feels good to say it at last."

I curl my body around his, gathering him into my arms, and he presses his face into my shoulder. He draws back a little to scrutinise my face. 

“I’m sorry I was so quick” he says, his mouth turning down at the corners endearingly. “Take it as a compliment?”

“We’ve got all night” I tell him, with a lopsided smile. “You said you wanted to do _everything_ , didn’t you? Well, there’s plenty more, you know. We’re just getting started.”

But before he can answer, a sound in the corridor outside makes us both start. Findekáno sits up, unconsciously pulling me closer to him. We strain our ears, alert to the tiniest sound, our eyes meeting.

There are footsteps, two sets, as far as I can tell, and they are moving along the corridor from the far end. As they approach, I hear two familiar voices. They are in the corridor, and Findekáno and I press our ears to the wall behind the bed, listening intently.

“… are you sure you cannot stay longer though?” I hear my mother say.

“We never intended to stay at the palace overnight anyway” answers Anairë. “We originally meant to leave when the ball ends at midnight, although I suppose it’s different for you since you live so far away. But Irissë has made it her mission to dance with _everyone_ , and Turukáno disappeared who knows where at some point during the second dance, and I haven’t actually seen Findekáno since dinner. Did he even make an appearance at the ball?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “And on top of that Arakáno’s been restless all day.” She sighs. “Maybe I should have stayed home with him.” As if on cue there is the loud wail of a young child, spluttering into a sob, followed immediately by the sound of Anairë shushing the child and humming him a hasty lullaby.

My mother’s voice is soothing, but filled with regret. “I know how it is. And I am truly sorry for Fëanáro’s… behaviour tonight. He shouldn’t have said half of those things.”

“In fairness, Ñolofinwë was not devoid of blame in this.”

My mother sighs. “I wish… well, don’t tell Fëanáro I said this, but I can see why Ñolofinwë’s upset. I told him _Telufinwë_ would be a controversial choice of name. If anyone in the family has more children… the implication… but you know how he thrives on controversy.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Nerdanel” says Anairë. “Ñolwë began the conversation, although not originally out of any bad intention, I’m certain. Still, I resent him discussing these putative extra children in my presence without acknowledging that I might have something to do with it.” She laughs wryly.

“When they’re together in a room, especially in public” says my mother regretfully, “Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë, I am afraid, are wont to behave like no one else in the world exists. Except perhaps their father.”

They still their rueful laughter and their voices quickly so as not to disturb Arakáno, who seems to have fallen asleep. Findekáno and I, frozen and listening warily, must strain our ears to catch their next words.

“Anyway” sighs Anairë, after a while. “All I want right now though is to find my children and get home.”

“All right, how about this. You go look for Turukáno and Irissë around the palace, and I can start by asking Maitimo if he has any insight into where Findekáno may have got to, if he’s still awake. He and Findekáno are practically inseparable these days.”

Anairë sighs with relief. “Thank you Nerdanel.”

We hear one set of footsteps receding down the corridor, but the other is very definitely approaching the door to my room. That startles Findekáno out of his reverie, his eyes widening. Briefly, I wonder whether it would be possible for us to pretend not to be here when my mother knocks on the door, but, I realise, that would probably only generate more awkward questions later. Then I contemplate telling my mother everything, but I find that although it is certainly preferable to telling my father, I do not relish the thought, and I know Findekáno would be even less enthusiastic. Trying not to panic, I get out of bed as quietly as I can, and Findekáno follows me. We dress hastily in our crumpled clothes from earlier. I note, with a slight smile, that even now Findekáno looks slightly regretful as I button my shirt again. My hands feel clumsy with nervousness. After I am dressed I cast around childishly for a hiding place. I look at Findekáno and see him gazing out of the window. “Fin!” I hiss. “There’s no time! She’s - ” Then I realise what he is thinking and my heart almost stops. “No. No, don’t you dare. Don’t even think about it.”

Findekáno stands at the wide open window, framed by the fluttering curtains. The window opens onto a small balcony, barely large enough for one person, and at the base of it there is a narrow cornice that runs around the outside wall of the palace, punctuated at intervals by the balconies of the other rooms along the corridor. The end of the cornice is a few feet above the roof of a covered cloister that joins to the coach houses. There I can even see Ñolofinwë pacing impatiently by his family’s carriage. Findekáno looks at me.

“If I ran along that ledge - ”

“No.”

“I can do it! I could meet them at the carriage and it would be like nothing had happened!”

“Not if you break your neck jumping down there!” I protest, stifling my voice back to a whisper as I feel it rising.

“I won’t! I’ll jump down onto that roof, and from there it’s not far to the ground at all.”

“Findekáno - ”

“It’ll be fine! I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Or come to Tirion and see me.”

I gesture at the neighbouring rooms. “And what if my brothers are in their rooms, hmm? What will Tyelko think, for example, if he sees you run past his window?”

He shrugs. “Depends on whether we want to be discovered by both our mothers for certain, or possibly by one of your brothers.”

I grimace. Neither is an appealing prospect, for scandal would surely erupt in either case. I wonder if Macalaurë would understand, or even take my side in this. I give Findekáno a long look as I hear my mother knock on the door. “Maitimo?” she says softly. “Are you awake?”

“Just a minute amil!” I call over my shoulder. I turn back to Findekáno, who is grinning at me. I run my fingers through my hair. “You’re positively enjoying this, aren’t you?” I whisper to him. In answer, he kisses me swiftly, and then straightens my shirt collar, placing a lock of my hair so that it covers my throat. My hand flies to the spot. “Don’t tell me…”

“Sorry about that” he says, although he doesn’t look sorry in the slightest. He turns to the window. “See you tomorrow then?” he whispers.

“Yes. I’ll come to Tirion.” I kiss him once more. Then I cringe, looking down at the drop. “For Eru’s sake, be _careful_ , Fin!”

But he only gives me a rakish grin, and in a swirl of blue brocade coat tails, he is gone.

I turn back to the door, hastily trying to straighten my clothes and flatten my hopelessly tangled hair. I take a deep breath. “Come in!”

 


	8. Findekáno

With a deep breath and one last look back at Maitimo’s face, pale and worried now but with his lips and cheeks still flushed a vivid and enticing pink, I lower myself over the railing and feel for the ledge with my feet. I did not have time to tie my boots, and they feel suddenly loose on my feet. I swallow nervously, wondering briefly whether I would have preferred to face Nerdanel. But now, I realise, it is far too late for that. Placing my feet as squarely as I can on the ledge, I fit my fingers into the gaps between the stones of the palace, pressing the front of my body as flat to the wall as I can. I dart a glance behind me. The ground looks much further away than it did from the balcony, and the cornice I am standing on seems at least half the width it had looked before I stepped onto it.

Gingerly, I lift a foot, and start to shuffle along the ledge. As I move, I speed up, gaining confidence. There is a balcony, but the ledge merely goes around it, and I cling onto the railing, glad of the extra purchase. I peer in at the window curiously, ducking when I think I see a flash of movement within. Or was it my imagination? But the thought is pushed to one side as I am already darting around to the safety of the next flat stretch of wall. I negotiate the next balcony in the same way, and the next, and then suddenly I have reached the corner of the building. I feel terribly exposed, and the drop seems to yawn before me. I glance momentarily downwards to the courtyard below, where Atar is still waiting by the carriage. He paces and folds and unfolds his arms irritably, but, mercifully, he does not look up.

Shaking my head a little, I return to what must be done. Below me there is the roof of the cloister, and I find that if I focus on that rather than the empty air, then the grip the fear has on me is less choking. Bending my legs slowly and gradually, I reach down and grasp the rim of the ledge, my knuckles white on the stone. My mouth feels dry as I lower my legs down until I am hanging by my hands, the masonry biting into the pads of my fingers painfully. I cannot feel the roof, but I know it cannot be far below my feet. Breathing in and squeezing my eyes shut, I let go.

I land on the balls of my feet on the leaded roof, trying to muffle the sound as best I can. For a moment I sway precariously, before regaining my balance and ducking low. I squeeze my hands into fists, my blood beating in my ears, triumphant. But I cannot celebrate yet; I must still get to the ground unnoticed. I scan the roof around me. There is a drainpipe running down from of the gutters, and, clinging to it, I gently lower myself into the upper gallery of the cloister.

Grasping a column, I jump down into the paved gallery, a floor above where my father is waiting. But as I land, my loosened boot slips, and I fall painfully on the outside of my ankle. Biting back a cry, I get shakily to my feet, trying to put as little weight on it as possible. I know the pain will be worse later, but now I simply grit my teeth, breathing hard, and kneel back down again to tie my boots as an afterthought. My ankle explodes with pain, and I curse my stupidity. But then I think of Maitimo as I had left him, and the conversation he might currently be having with his mother, and wonder if my lot may indeed be preferable. Love flares in my heart once more, and the pain seems a little less as I fix Maitimo’s face in my mind. No matter what happens, I know, I will not regret our time together tonight.

Straightening my clothes and collecting myself, I descend the stairs to the courtyard, trying hard not to limp.

Atar is sitting in the carriage now, with Turukáno beside him. He gives me a terse smile, but my brother does not even acknowledge my presence. I am about to speak when my mother appears around the corner, carrying a squirming Arakáno on her hip and dragging my sister by the hand.

“Come on Irissë. Time to go home.”

“But Amil! The ball - ”

“ – Is practically over anyway. When you come of age, you can dance until your shoes wear through and you fall asleep on your feet, and I will not stop you. But today we are going home, and think yourself fortunate that you were allowed to stay out this late at all.”

Irissë merely crosses her arms sullenly and says nothing.

“I’ll take Arakáno for a while” says Atar wearily. “Thank you Anairë.” As soon as Arakáno is in his arms, my youngest brother falls asleep, sucking his thumb and sprawling out over Atar and Turukáno’s laps. The rest of us pile into the carriage; I trip a little on the step, and realise that my ankle is probably sprained. The pain is increasing steadily with every step I take. I realise that Amil saw me stumble, and stare pointedly at Irissë, trying to redirect Amil’s attention to my sister who is giving the carriage step a sharp kick on the way in with the toe of one of her dancing shoes. Turukáno rolls his eyes, even as Atar signals the coachman and we trundle off towards Tirion.

We sit in silence for much of the journey, each lost in their own thoughts. Irissë has dropped off to sleep with her head lying heavily against my shoulder. Turukáno sits glowering at the floor and fidgeting with the silver embroidery on his sleeve, which, I notice, he has begun to fray. I futilely try to rearrange my face to match my brother’s sombre mood so as not to arouse suspicion, as, I realise, my expression is somewhere between a cheerful grin and a fixed grimace of pain.

“What’s wrong, Turno?” I ask, to break the oppressive silence. “Did something happen?” I try to slur my words a little so that my earlier stumble may be taken for merely the effect of too much wine at dinner.

“Nothing. I’m fine” he says shortly, but he is about as unconvincing as I am. It is plain he does not want to talk about something, and my heart goes out to my brother for a moment, but I remain silent. Shrugging, I stare out of the window, crossing my legs and trying not wince as the throbbing in my ankle redoubles. When I look back at my mother, she is staring at my feet with a suspicious eyebrow raised. Hastily, I look away again, my heart pounding, but mercifully she says nothing to me for the rest of the journey.

\--------

It is another mercy that my family do not have plans the next day. The house is quiet; last night we were home late. Nevertheless, I wake before the Mingling. My eyes prickle with exhaustion, but my mind is whirring, exhilarated. I constantly have to reassure myself that last night did in fact happen, that it wasn’t all some extremely vivid dream. I am restless, waiting. I get up and wash and dress haphazardly. The pain in my ankle is almost unbearable, and it has swollen alarmingly. I am certain it is sprained, and perhaps badly, but I do not think it is broken. I bandage it tightly, pulling on heavy boots despite the heat to hide the swelling. I grit my teeth, biting my tongue against the pain. I would pace if I could, but it hurts too much, so I simply sit staring out of the window, my thoughts churning. _He said he’d come today_ , I think. Midday comes and goes, the hours dragging past, but no Maitimo.

Eventually I enter the library, and pick a book at random from the shelf. Then I stumble painfully down the stairs into the garden, sitting myself cross-legged on the grass, stripping off my boots and my socks. The Treelight feels good on my face after the stuffy air inside the house, and I take out my book. In my haste, I find, I have picked out a volume of children’s stories, something I have not even looked at since Maitimo read them aloud to me when I was a child. I smile ruefully. Perhaps not the best thing to read in my current state. I try to start at the beginning, but I find I still cannot concentrate, reading the same paragraph over and over. I flip idly through the book, looking at the pictures but seeing only Maitimo’s face in my mind’s eye. Finally, I give up, closing the book and lying back on the warm, fragrant grass. My mind wanders over last night, and I smile a little to myself, before beginning to worry again. _What if he regrets it? No, surely…_ A new possibility strikes me. _What if Nerdanel, or worse, Fëanáro, saw me climbing out the window and has forbidden him to see me? Surely not…_ A thousand potential scenarios swarm over me. I close my eyes, trying to think of nothing but the bright scarlet glow behind my eyelids, the warm morning light on my skin, the grass beneath my body.

I must have fallen into fitful sleep, for the next thing I know I am starting awake as a shadow falls over my face. I squint upwards, momentarily dazzled by the Treelight, but I can make out a tall and very familiar figure silhouetted by Laurelin behind him, leaning over me in consternation.

“Maitimo!”

“Findekáno. I’m sorry I wasn’t here in the morning.” He gazes down at me, looking somewhat concerned. “Are - are you alright? Only that I didn’t realise you were in the habit of falling asleep in the garden.”

I smile at him, and he sits down on the grass beside me. “I’m not in the habit of doing a lot of things.”

“And attempting to be coy is one of them. Am I presented with a very different Findekáno from the one I knew before?” He lies down beside me with a furtive glance at the house. I roll onto my side and look at him, remembering our conversation on the river bank. That had only been four days earlier, yet it does indeed feel like a lifetime ago, or something that happened to someone else. Maitimo brushes back a curl that has fallen over my face. I feel my lips curving into a smile and I clasp his hand between my own. Again, he darts a glance towards the house, then looks at me, worry clouding his clear silver eyes.

“Findekáno… I wanted to tell you…”

My heart plummets. “That you… regret it? Last night? Is that what you mean to say? Because if it is, please say it quickly.”

He sits up again, looking hurt and alarmed. “No. No! I didn’t mean that at all.” He hastily takes me in his arms and presses a swift kiss to my lips, one eye on the windows all the while. “I simply meant to say - ”

“Findekáno! And is that Maitimo with you?” I freeze, for it is my mother’s voice. Maitimo lets go of me immediately, as if my skin is made of burning coals, and I shuffle away from him to about the distance expected of close friends.

“Here, Amil!” I shout.

“Well, Findekáno, were you planning to invite your cousin in at any point?” My mother approaches us, standing over us and watching me appraisingly. “I apologise for his rudeness, Nelyafinwë dear” she says, ruffling Maitimo’s hair. “He’s been dreadfully distracted recently. Come in for some tea?”

“I would love to, Anairë” says Maitimo graciously, rising to his feet and smiling as he half bows, and they kiss each other's cheeks. I scramble to my feet, wincing at the pain again, and the three of us make our way into the house. Maitimo turns to me and gives me an encouraging smile, before his face freezes in pain and alarm. I realise that he has noticed me limping, and seen the bandage on my ankle. He gives me a look, and I can almost hear his voice in my mind.  _What happened?_

_Later_ , I mouth at him, nodding towards my mother. She ushers us onto the veranda, where we sit in wicker chairs. At my mother’s insistence, the kitchen maid brings us a tray with a pot of strong, spiced tea, and three tiny cups. I sip mine despite the heat. It is too sweet, the taste cloying, but I carry on drinking it anyway as I watch Amil and Maitimo making light conversation.

“And now” she says brightly, when the maid has gone, “on to what I wanted to talk to you about. What I wanted to talk to  _both_  of you about.”

I twitch involuntarily. “And what is that?”

“Why, the two of you of course! And yesterday night?”

My mouth drops slightly open. My mother laughs, looking from one of our faces to the other. “Honestly, you needn’t look so surprised, the both of you. You ought to see your faces. Why do you think Nerdanel and I dawdled and talked for so long in the corridor, other than to give you some warning of our presence? I would have left you alone if there hadn’t been that argument at the ball. It was your father that wanted us all to leave, Finno.” She smiles to herself. “You were not particularly adept at hiding it, you know. But, I suppose, where first love is concerned, one never is.”

Maitimo looks horrified. “Anairë, I… I…”

She smiles affectionately at him, chucking him under the chin as if he were a child. “Oh Nelyafinwë, you should know that my eldest has been head-over-heels for you for a rather long time. Anyone could see it, and I am his mother, so I am rather better placed that most.”

I open my mouth in protest. “Was I really that - ”

She takes me in her arms, kissing me on the forehead. “You are many things, Finno dear, but subtle is not one of them.” She holds me by the shoulders at arms' length, giving me that appraising look again. “I don’t disapprove, you know” she says, looking between us. “And no, I will not tell your father, Findekáno. Not if you don’t want me to. Not if you’re not ready. You are an adult now, and that is for you to do, as and when you choose. And Nelyafinwë” her mouth twists into a smile “I shall certainly not take it upon myself to tell  _your_  father.”

“So… so does my mother know too?”

She laughs. “Indeed. Nerdanel and I were speculating about the two of you all through dinner. She said you came home from your trip with Findekáno the other day in a terribly heartsick mood, Nelyo. I hear you broke a lantern?”

Maitimo looks a little uncomfortable, but my mother merely smiles and enfolds him in a hug, whispering something into his ear that I do not catch, before sipping her tea and continuing. “I’m willing to turn a blind eye, and let it continue, should you want it to. I’m not going to go haranguing you about laws and customs and whatnot. Eru knows I was just as bad, before I met your father. And then  _with_  your father, oh you should have seen us…”

“ _Amil!_ ”

“What? It’s true!” She is grinning, but her face darkens swiftly with worry. “But you may find others to be less accommodating, particularly since you are cousins, and both male. There are some who would hold that against you…” she winces, and I wonder what rumours about her eldest son my mother has been subjected to listening to in Tirion. “Anyway. I will not judge you, in fact I am happy for you. So I will help in any way I can, on one condition.” She looks at me sternly. “Findekáno Ñolofinwion, on no account will you ever climb out of a window again. By the Valar, if I ever catch you risking your neck doing anything as stupidly dangerous as  _clinging to the side of a building_  once more, then there will be consequences, young man.  _Consequences_.” Her eyes burn, and I cannot help but shrink back a little.

“Yes, Amil” I answer weakly.

“Good.” Her face softens. “Nelyo, I know you. I know you would never hurt Findekáno.” She clasps both his hands in hers. “Don’t give me reason to regret putting my trust in you, hmm?”

He draws himself up a little in his seat. “You have my word, Anairë. And the sons of Fëanáro never go back on their promises.”

She hugs him quickly, and then kisses him on the cheek. “Glad to hear it. Now, Findekáno, would you let me take a look at that poor ankle of yours?”

“Yes please” I say, letting my genuine gratitude seep into my voice. I had thought vaguely of going to see a healer, but I had not relished the prospect. She raises my foot onto her lap, and begins to unwind my makeshift bandage, revealing my swollen ankle. I wince.

“Findekáno…” Maitimo’s face is anguished, and he clasps my hand, all attempts at restraint gone. “Forgive me, I didn’t realise until…”

“I was lying down before” I say, giving his hand a squeeze to stop myself crying out as my mother gently feels for broken bones. “You had no –  _ah!_  – no reason to.”

“But this is my fault” he says miserably.

“No it’s not. The window was entirely my idea. I nearly made it too! I only hurt my ankle jumping into the cloister right at the end, after I had climbed along the side of the building and - ”

“Please Finno, it makes me nervous just to listen to you talk like that” interrupts Amil. “It’s not broken, merely sprained. I thought as much in the carriage last night.”

“And… and you guessed everything? About the – about how I got down to the courtyard?”

She smiles. “You made the mistake of getting there before me. The only way you could have made it was on the  _outside_  of the building. And I knew that the rooms off that corridor look down over the roof of that courtyard. Also, my dear, I  _know_  you. It was just the sort of ridiculous scheme you’d come up with.” Her face clouds. “I realised on my way down the stairs and I tried to make it as quickly as I could, but with Irissë and Arakáno…”

“I’m sorry Amil. Really.” My heart squeezes to see her worry about me so.

She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Of course you’re forgiven Finno. Now, what do you say to me bandaging your ankle properly for you? The swelling should go down soon enough, so long as you don’t do anything too adventurous. Maitimo, see that he doesn’t do anything too adventurous, would you?”

Maitimo nods his assent, relieved.

“Good. And how about I also give you something for the pain?”

“Yes Amil. That would be good.”


	9. Maitimo

“So, what did you want to tell me?

“Several different things.”

Findekáno raises an eyebrow. I pass a hand across my face. “Well, the first was that I suspected my mother knew about us. To be fair, it was probably fairly obvious to her from the state of the room and my general dishevelled appearance.” I laugh. “But I feel like that announcement is slightly redundant now.”

We are alone again, sitting under a tree in the garden, a short distance away from the house. Findekáno’s leg sports a fresh bandage, and he leans against me, his head in my lap. “I’m still reeling from the fact that my mother was so casual about it.”

I run my fingers absently through his thick, curling dark hair as it spills across my knees. “Hey! I’m not quite that unsuitable, am I?”

“You’re my cousin, and we’re both princes. One could make the argument that you’re eminently unsuitable for me, and that we’re both being horribly irresponsible to boot. But I find I rather enjoy being irresponsible, particularly when I’m being irresponsible with you, Maitimo.” He reaches up and clasps the back of my neck pulling my face closer to his, so that I am almost folded in half. I smile.

“Likewise.” I truly mean it, and yet I lean into the kiss for only as long as I dare, before pulling back. We are still within sight of the windows and the eyes that may peer through them, eyes that may belong to people less understanding than Anairë. I run the backs of my fingers lightly upwards along Findekáno’s cheek, skimming the edge of his jaw and along his ear from lobe to point, simply enjoying the smoothness and delicate warmth of his skin. He squeezes his eyes closed and gives an appreciative tremor, almost a purr, low in his throat.

“Mmmm, Maitimo…” his eyes open a fraction, and he glances up at me maddeningly from under those thick, dark lashes of his. “We should carry on where we left off last night…”

My heartbeat accelerates a little. “Here?” I ask, glancing up at the house again. “Are you sure?”

Findekáno has slipped down a little from where he was leaning against me, and as he pulls himself back to my eye level I feel a stab of guilt at his almost imperceptible wince when he puts weight on his sprained ankle. “Besides,” I add. “You’re hurt. Maybe we shouldn’t - ”

“I was hoping to be horizontal enough that it wouldn’t matter” says Findekáno, flashing me a grin so flirtatious that it takes me a moment to realise that my mouth is hanging a little open at the sight, and even then only when he swiftly kisses my slightly parted lips. I am just in the process of flinging my arms around his neck and kissing him with wild abandon, when I hear an extremely familiar voice behind me.

“ _Nelyo?_ ”

My heart stops for a moment, and Findekáno and I spring apart as best we can given that we are sitting on the ground in a close embrace. My head whips around to the source of the voice. “Tyelko? What are you doing here?”

My brother smirks down at us from a little way off. “I may ask you the same thing, but actually it’s fairly obvious.”

Findekáno is scowling at him, but Tyelkormo is staring at me, his expression somewhere between incredulous, amused and horrified. “Well, well” he says, finally. “I must say that I probably should have seen this coming.”

“Tyelko. What are you doing here?” I have little patience for my brother’s teasing today.

“I came to get you, as a matter of fact. Atar wants you home. You remember he was going to take Moryo and Curvo out into the countryside with him on his next trip, to bring back ore samples and to teach them mapping and surveying?”

I nod suspiciously. “They’re going today, aren’t they? What of it?”

“He wants us to come too. You, me, and Macalaurë. He decided this morning, just after you left the house, for reasons best known to himself. He sent me to get you.”

I look to Findekáno, who is glaring harder by the minute, and then back to Tyelko. “Why?”

Tyelko shrugs. “You know how Atar likes to decide things on the spur of the moment. He said he wanted us to help him map a place just west of Formenos, while he is teaching Moryo and Curvo. But I’m pretty sure that’s not the real reason.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why so?”

“If you ask me,” he leans in towards us and smiles, “he thinks we could do with the time away from Tirion and with our brothers. That the three of us have been getting just a little too close to Ñolofinwë and his family, although” – he nods gleefully to Findekáno – “In your case, I doubt he is aware of quite _how_ close.”

I do not answer, making up my mind to worry about Atar later. Findekáno has fixed Tyelko with a glare. “Maitimo is not a child” he says coolly. “If he wants to stay here in Tirion, then Fëanáro can’t force him to go. And _you_ certainly can’t either.”

I sigh. “Findekáno…”

He stares at me, and his face falls. “You’re going to go then?”

“Yes.” The disappointment on his face is so palpable that I immediately feel guilty, and kiss him softly to try to console him a little. “But I’ll be back in…”

“Three weeks” supplies Tyelkormo. When I look around at him, he had turned his head determinedly in the opposite direction, and is staring up at the sky in apparent fascination rather than at us. He turns back to me. “Atar wants to stop off at Formenos on the way back, but we should be back on the twentieth day of the month. That’s what he said, anyway, and I hope he keeps to it. Macalaurë will be complaining something awful by then. You know how bored he gets out in the countryside. And also” he grimaces “I’ve said I’ll go to a midnight gathering that night, in Tirion.”

I roll my eyes, thinking of the drunken, debauched parties favoured by the young people of Tirion. I had even been to a few myself, although not for years now.

“Don’t tell me you still go to those awful things Tyelko.”

“This one’s Findaráto’s!” he protests. “It’s in that garden at the foot of the hill!”

"I should have known Findaráto would grow up to enjoy organising that sort of thing." I roll my eyes. “Besides, the fact that it’s _Findaráto's_  glorified orgy on his family property rather than anyone else's, while Arafinwë and Eärwen are away in Alqualondë to boot, does not make it any better.”

“Ha!” exclaims my brother. “Nelyo, you wouldn’t recognise an orgy, glorified or otherwise, if it bit you in the arse. But then,” he eyes Findekáno, who grins back at him, without a hint of shame on his face, looking in fact extremely pleased with himself, “it seems you have… _more specific_  interests.”

I open my mouth to reply, but Tyelko only grins. “Come on Nelyo” he attempts to pull me to my feet by the sleeve. “Atar sent me to fetch you, not to debate either Findaráto’s moral standing or what counts as incest. You’ll have plenty of time for… whatever it is you were planning to do with our cousin… when we get back.”

He is eyeing Findekáno and I, looking far too amused for my taste, and I pull my arm from his grasp in annoyance, getting to my feet of my own accord. Findekáno follows with a whimper of pain. I lean my head towards him, our foreheads pressing together. “I’ll… I promise I’ll be back soon.”

“I know” says Findekáno. His eyes are a little sorrowful, but wide and trusting. All of a sudden that wicked grin appears on his face once again, and he pulls my head down to whisper in my ear, his lips brushing the point.

“My ankle will have healed in three weeks time, easily. So no more guilt, Maitimo. When you get back, I’ll be here waiting for you to do whatever you want with me, just like Tyelko so presciently said.”

I smile into his hair, pressed again my face, and turn his head around for a kiss. “Oh, I plan to.”

“Nelyo!” Tyelko, behind me, is growing impatient. I turn, and he is looking pained. “Please. Spare me this. Come on, we have to go.”

I roll my eyes. “All right, all right.”

With a last glance over my shoulder at Findekáno, Tyelko and I start the long walk back to our home in silence. After a while it begins to become oppressive.

“Tyelko” I burst out finally. “Findekáno and I…”

He smiles. “It was at the ball last night, wasn’t it?”

I stare. “How did you…?”

“I guessed. You were behaving strangely last night, both of you. And then with what I saw just now it was a fairly unavoidable conclusion. You” – he pokes me in the chest – “need to remember that although I may not be good at anything Atar actually values, I am very good at hiding silently amongst trees and watching unobserved, whether it be a deer in the forest or my brother and my half-cousin having some sort of lovers’ tryst under a tree in plain sight.”

“How did you even get in?”

“Irissë let me in. It was her that told me about the midnight gathering on the twentieth. She got it from Artanis, who was evesdropping on her brothers.”

“I don’t care about this party, no matter how many times you mention it” I say, a little more irritably than I intended, running my fingers through my hair. I stop walking, taking Tyelko by the shoulders and forcing him to look at me. “Tyelko. Please, promise me you won’t tell anyone what you saw, at least not yet? If this got out, it could be - ”

“Oh Nelyo, I was only teasing. Actually, if I’m honest, I’ve sent this coming for a good while now.”

I groan. “Not you too!”

“Indeed. You, Nelyo, are blindingly obviously in love, Findekáno even more so, and he looked smug as anything today.”

I simply stare at him, disbelievingly. He rolls his eyes. “Oh all right. If it makes you feel any better, I solemnly swear not to tell anyone of what I saw today, until you judge the time to be right.”

“Thank you.”

 

\-------

“Sorry for causing a delay” I say, when we reach the gate and see Atar and Moryo strapping saddlebags to our horses for the journey. “I didn’t know - ”

“That is because I didn’t tell you.” Atar interrupts me, but his tone is genial. “I need to collect some samples, as well as to teach your younger brothers something of the art of navigation and the making of maps.” If he is hiding another purpose as Tyelko suspects, I think, he hides it very well, for his eyes give away nothing.

"Of course. Do you need me to help with the packing?"

We set out later that day, little Curvo riding his new pony that he has only recently grown big enough for, and fairly glowing with pride to be taken on one of Atar’s journeys out of Tirion for the first time. Despite everything, he makes an endearing sight, always asking Atar questions and nodding wisely and seriously at the responses, his shock of black hair blowing over his round face in the breeze as no one thought to braid it for him before we left.

“Why is Amil not with us?” I ask Tyelko as we go, for as often as not she came along on such trips, particularly if interesting new quarry sites were likely to be found.

“At home with the twins” he says, as we watch Moryo make a playful swipe at Macalaurë where they are riding ahead of us, not far behind Atar and Curvo. He lowers his voice, and a hint of brittleness creeps into it. “They argued, after the ball yesterday night. This morning she said she was staying home because she had work to do but…” he frowns, “well, they weren’t actually talking this morning…”

Immediately I feel guilty, for I had been so caught up in my thoughts of Findekáno that I had simply not noticed Amil and Atar’s coldness towards each other, nor my brother’s distress. Tyelko, though he is good at pretending to have a thick skin, is easily hurt by such things, I know by now.

“I’m sorry…” I begin.

“Not your fault.” He shrugs. “And it wasn’t as though it wasn’t expected.”

He is right, I think uncomfortably. Our parents’ arguments have been getting more frequent and more intense of late.

“I should have been there” I mutter, half to myself.

He gives a hollow laugh. “They’ll give you plenty of other chances, I’m sure.”

“Don’t say that.”

He says nothing, but merely spurs his horse to catch up with Macalaurë.

 

\---------

 

The trip passes much like any other of our journeys with Atar, in the wild lands north of Tirion. There had been a time, before the twins were born, when we had made such journeys regularly, and I know that Amil and Atar had travelled together when they were young, unmarried lovers. I remember growing up relishing the thought of leaving Tirion behind me and following my father into the lands that only appeared as rough sketches on the edges of his maps, and not at all on the ones in the palace library made by others. This time though, I find I cannot summon much enthusiasm for classifying minerals, nor for the tasks Atar sets us to while he teaches the little ones about mapping the land. Not even for riding with my brothers through open planes, the Trees at our backs and the wind lifting our hair, away from the cloying heat of summer in Tirion.

I only feel impatient and distracted, thoughts of Findekáno intruding constantly into my mind. I wonder ceaselessly whether Atar knows. Somehow that seems worse than Amil knowing, as I know that even if she does not approve she holds me able to make my own choice in the matter. Atar, on the other hand, with his attitude to Ñolofinwë… I cannot be certain that he would not see it as a betrayal. I am certain of nothing, other than that I have grown to love Findekáno with a desperate longing that took root in my heart long ago and is only now beginning to show itself for what it is. Sometimes, I laugh grimly at myself, remembering how once I had not believed I would ever find love. Lust I know something of, and I had taken for sentimental fools those who said they had felt compelled to bind themselves to a particular person to the ending of Arda. And yet… now I do not know what to think. I wonder, too, whether Findekáno knows that I truly did not know that Atar was planning this journey, or whether he thinks I left him out of shame or awkwardness… surely not. But the sight of his face as I left him in the garden nearly breaks my heart with the weight of things unsaid. I put it from my mind, knowing that there is no sense in worrying about it until I return to Findekáno. This usually works for a few minutes, at least, before Findekáno’s face swims back before my eyes, the feeling of his hands on me and his lips –

“Nelyo! Did you hear me? I said, pass me that lampstone?”

I start at Macalaurë’s voice, loud and close to my ear. When we stop to make camp for the night, Macalaurë and Tyelko and I share one tent while Atar sleeps in the other with Curvo and Moryo.

“What?” I realise that I have missed their conversation.

Macalaurë rolls his eyes. “Pass me that lampstone. I want to read for a bit before I go to sleep.”

“How many books did you _bring_ , Macalaurë?” teases Tyelko, who is between us, already wrapped in blankets, for it is colder this far from the Trees. “This tent is barely big enough for the three of us, let alone half your library from home.”

His voice is defensive. “Not _that_ many…”

Wordlessly, I hand him the lampstone beside me. “But we should all go to bed soon anyway” I add, lest he stay up half the night. To underline my point, I pull my own blankets tighter about my shoulders and roll over onto my side, facing away from my brothers and closing my eyes.

“It’s not even that late” grumbles Macalaurë. “And it’s not as if you need more sleep. You’ve been half-daydreaming this entire trip.”

Behind me, Tyelko laughs. “Oh, come on, Macalaurë, put out the light so that Nelyo can go to sleep and have wet dreams about our favourite cousin…”

My eyes spring open again, and I sit up to glare at him. “ _Tyelko!_ ”

Macalaurë squints. “What?”

“Findekáno” Tyelko grins wickedly. “Sorry Nelyo. I simply can’t help myself any more.”

He turns to Macalaurë. “I caught him kissing Findekáno, when I went to get him the morning we left. Turns out when they left the ball early the night before, they really weren’t just off for a quiet talk.”

“So much for solemn brotherly oaths of silence” I mutter darkly, cuffing Tyelko on the back of the head with the corner of my blanket.

“Oh come on Nelyo. You weren’t even going to tell Macalaurë?”

“I wasn’t going to tell _anyone_ yet, at least not without asking Findekáno! The only reason _you_ know is because you were eavesdropping!”

Tyelko snorts. “Hardly!”

“Wait, so… it’s true?” Macalaurë’s face is frozen. “You and… how long has this been going on?” He looks hurt. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

I sigh and shoot Tyelko another disapproving look. “I told you, I didn’t _intend_ to tell anyone yet. And it’s only been _going on,_ as you put it, since the night before we left. The night of the ball.” I can feel myself blushing.

To both my relief and consternation, Macalaurë’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Ha! Now that you mention it, the way Findekáno has been looking at you lately… I suppose it was him that initiated it then?”

“For the love of Eru, keep your voice down Macalaurë!” I hiss at him, suddenly painfully aware of Atar and our younger brothers in the other tent not far away.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret, at least better than Tyelko” he elbows our younger brother hard in the ribs. “That’s for breaking your promise to Nelyo!”

Tyelko gives a muffled squawk of protest and elbows him back, harder. "Káno, you ungrateful - "

I clear my throat loudly as Macalaurë moves to hit him back. “I think we should all go to sleep now.”

“Honestly Nelyo? But… but…” he tries half-heartedly to lower his voice. “Aren’t you going to give us any more details? There must be a story behind this. Subterfuge. Drama. Romance. And all that.”

“Go to sleep Macalaurë.”

He shuffles himself over towards where I sit and hugs me. “No need to be like that!”

I glare. “See what you’ve done Tyelko?”

“Is he a good kisser? What’s he like in bed? Is he as bold as he is the rest of the time?”

Tyelko cackles with laughter, chiming in, “so, who was on top…?”

“Tyelko!” chides Macalaurë, in mock outrage, although he is obviously struggling not to laugh himself. “Although, since the question _has_ already been asked, I’d be quite curious - ”

“We didn’t even get to that stage…” I blush, realising that answering their questions will only encourage them.

“So, it was only a quick hand down each other’s trousers with our dear sweet little cousin was it?” asks Tyelko, leering. “A drunken fumble in the dark after the palace ball? Honestly Maitimo, you surprise me. I thought you were all honour and grace…”

When put like that, I realise, it does sound rather reprehensible. “He’s not a child” I say weakly, as if this were any defence. “And he wanted…”

Tyelko rolls his eyes. “Ah, I see, you had no part in it at all. Findekáno seduced you mercilessly, and you were powerless to resist. Of course.”

My patience is fraying. “Tyelko - ”

But a new thought strikes Macalaurë and he interrupts me. “Wait. Were you… were you Findekáno’s first…?”

I grit my teeth, as Tyelko watches in infuriating amusement.

“Oh… Oh. You were, weren’t you? Does he think he’s desperately in love with you now?” Macalaurë snorts, before catching sight of my face. “Nelyo…” he looks into my eyes, worry on his face now. “You’re not in love with _him_ , are you?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands into them. “I don’t know. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know what to think.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t realise…” puts in Tyelko. “I thought it was just…”

Macalaurë simply hugs me without a word.


	10. Findekáno

The weeks pass with agonising slowness. I go about my duties at grandfather’s court, such as they are, with half of my mind always elsewhere. It is worse when I have free time. I soon discover that my mother has put it about that I injured my ankle tripping on the palace steps after the ball, a plausible enough explanation, and I am grateful for it. The thought of how I would explain my limp had barely crossed my mind.

I talk little, brooding on my own thoughts, the same ones cycling endlessly through my mind. Again, I try to read, and find that I am too distracted. As soon as my ankle heals, I pace, filled with a strange mixture of exhilaration and impatience. I wonder if this is truly what I wanted; I immediately dismiss the thought. Of course it is. I wanted Maitimo, and I love him, and he loves me back. That alone is worth every moment of distraction, every night of fitful sleep. Patience has never been one of my greatest attributes, this I know, and yet I find a sort of delirious joy beneath the frustration that he has been snatched away from me just as we have broken the barrier between our time as friends and our time as friends and lovers.

I sleep little, but both in sleep and waking I allow myself to dream. Of Maitimo’s words as he left with his brother, to speculate on every possible shade of meaning they may have carried. Of his hands and his mouth and the most exquisitely small and vulnerable sounds he made. His intonation and the hitch in his voice when he said he loved me. I feel a flickering of excitement, a tightening in my stomach and the palms of my hands and in the front of my trousers when I consider what will happen when he returns. I know little of the art of love, as I have heard it called. I know that there are plenty more ways for us to pleasure each other, a world of possibilities for things that we may try when we have uninterrupted time together. I cannot help but try to imagine what it will feel like for Maitimo to take me, trying to picture our bodies joined, to feel him inside me. The fact that he knows the way of such things already and is likely thinking of me in such a way, wherever he is, only gives me an extra thrill of arousal.

And yet it is not only that. An encounter is all very well, but I long to fall asleep in his arms, to open my eyes in the morning and to see his face next to mine, as I have heard tell of in sentimental love poetry that I never used to particularly care for. I wonder if I am the sort of person who craves intimacy of a different sort; then I realise that where Maitimo is concerned, I crave intimacy of _every_ sort, it is as simple as that. I swallow nervously, thinking of his many dalliances in his early youth. I wonder if I would be able to do that too, should he reject me for some reason, and quickly put the thought from my mind. Would that be me now if I had never known Maitimo? But Maitimo has been there for so much of my life, has taken such a hand in shaping my very  _fëa_ , that if I had never known him I cannot say who I would be, only that I would be very different.

It is these thoughts that continue to swirl in my mind as the morning of the twentieth day of the month comes, Laurelin waxing and Telperion waning quite as if it were an ordinary day. And I suppose it is, for most people, but all I can think is that Maitimo said he would return today. I try to pass the slowly dragging hours; I walk in circles around the house (although never too far away), I sit in the courtyard, I stand up and kick my heels against the paving stones. I catch sight of my mother watching me through the window once; she merely gives me a small, sympathetic smile.

Afternoon comes, and still he is not here. I tell myself that his father has probably stretched out their trip, or they were simply delayed. It is entirely possible, in fact I do not doubt that it is true. But some tiny, treacherous part of me says that he is never coming back, the irrational part of my mind that whispers in my ear at night. That filters through my dreams with its velvet-soft words, telling me that Maitimo doesn’t truly love me, that it was all a game, a dream, some sort of cruel pretence. The waiting exhausts me in heart and mind, my nerves fraying, my feet restless once again. I make my way up to my room and lie down on the floor on my back in only my breeches, for it is hot even for the time of year. I close my eyes and tilt my head back on the floor, letting my mind wander. Calm begins to steal over me. _I can wait. He will return, this evening or tomorrow or the next day and when he does…_ the corners of my mouth curve upwards in a faint smile as I remember that night, the next day, our conversation, and the delicious possibilities of what is to come. I feel a slight pang of guilt – but only a slight one – as I let my hand slip into the front of my trousers, all the while imagining it is Maitimo’s hand on me instead of my own. I am beginning to feel myself getting hard when I hear a knock on the door. It startles me, and I hasten to relace my breeches, sitting up too quickly and bruising my spine on the hard floor in the process with a muffled curse.

“Come in!” I manage after a moment, when I am on my feet and sitting innocently enough on the bed, a book on my lap to hide the telltale bulge. _Is it him?_ My heart races.

“Findekáno” the door opens and I feel a little deflated to see Turukáno standing there, with Findaráto behind him.

“What is it, Turno?” My voice comes out as an undignified squeak.

Turukáno gives me a rather suspicious stare. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you… are you alright, Finno?”

I give him the calmest smile I can muster under the circumstances. “Quite alright, thank you.”

Findaráto smirks a little, and I have the distinct impression that he knows exactly what was going on. But you never can tell with Findaráto. “I’m sorry if we came at a… bad time. But we wanted to extend an invitation to you, Finno.”

“ _You_ did, Ingo” puts in Turukáno, sounding a little resentful.

“Alright. Fine. He’s still all alone in his room, looking all troubled.” He gestures at me. “Finno, my brothers and I are planning a… midnight gathering… tonight. I insist that you and Turukáno both come along, since Turukáno’s been going around looking dejected for who knows how long, and I’ve barely even seen you.” I am about to make some excuse when he grins at me. “Come on, don’t say you have somewhere else to be. I know you don’t. It will be fun! There will be drink and song and beautiful people!”

“I… I really can’t…”

“Come on, Finno. What could possibly be so important? We used to be close as brothers, but these days I don’t see you for weeks, except at court.”

I feel a little ashamed. “Truly, I’m sorry Ingo… I promise I haven’t been intentionally avoiding you…”

“Then why not come along, if only for a little while?” He grins, putting his arm around Turukáno’s shoulders. “If only to help cheer Turno up?”

“I don’t need cheering up” grumbles Turukáno, his face belying his words. “And even if I did, a drunken garden party would not be the way to do it.”

“Drunken garden party?” Findaráto appears affronted. “It’s much more than that. Yes, it’s in a park which would otherwise be closed for the night. Yes, there will be some people who may drink a little too much. But everyone young and interesting and pretty in Tirion will be there.” 

“It still doesn't sound like my idea of fun” says Turukáno, half-heartedly. I sympathise, but I say nothing.

“Findekáno” puts in Findaráto. “If for no other reason, I would have you there to sing and play the harp, while Macalaurë is away. You would not leave me to sing alone, would you?” He looks beseeching. “I need accompaniment on the harp, and you can sing pretty well too!”

I stifle a snort of laughter, for Findaráto clearly relishes the chance to show off without our cousin here to overshadow him. If Macalaurë were here, it would surely be Findaráto accompanying him. But I do not say this.

“I’m sure people will scarcely notice” I reply instead. “Besides, I can’t sing Macalaurë’s part. I haven’t got his vocal range.”

He laughs. “Your vocal range is good enough for our purposes tonight, I think. At some point everyone tends to stop caring about the music anyway.”

Findaráto has a way with compliments that also leave one mildly put out. He smiles in the face of my glare and claps me on the shoulder. “Come on Finno. Put some proper clothes on and get your harp. You’ll have fun, I promise, and between friends” he leans in a little closer and smiles conspiratorially “the musicians rarely end the night with an empty bed.”

“Not that you ever let the popularity go to your head, Ingo” observes Turukáno dryly, although his voice is not without affection.

“Let it go to my head? _Me?_ ” Findaráto feigns hurt. “Never. But come on, the both of you.” He takes a hip flask from the folds of his neat little purple and gold half-cape. “I’ve even brought us something for the way.”

Resigning myself to go for a little while – there seems to be no arguing with Findaráto – I dig through my wardrobe and choose a slightly rumpled green linen tunic, a simple design with only a little embroidery, a discrete pattern of golden leaves at the neck and hem. Findaráto eyes my clothes, looking somewhat amused, and then turns to look at Turukáno, who is wearing red and gold.

“No blue? I suppose the two of you don’t want to bring shame upon the house of Ñolofinwë. Very good. Very noble of you. It makes me wonder what the two of you are planning to do tonight…” he smiles genially at me. “But Findekáno, if you are trying to blend in with the green and gold of my house, you’ll be sadly disappointed. Not enough gold in that hair of yours, no matter how many ribbons you braid into it.”

I purse my lips as I tie my boots resignedly. Findaráto laughs at my expression. “Both of you look so glum. You’re going to have fun tonight, I've decided it's my mission to make sure of that.”

I think, regretfully, of Maitimo, but there is little I can do to get out of this now, not without revealing our secret. Findaráto is one of the biggest gossips I know, albeit one of the most well-intentioned ones. _Perhaps Maitimo will not return tonight after all._ The thought only serves to make me feel a little more wretched. I finish putting my boots on and pick up my harp. Findaráto takes a still-grumbling Turukáno firmly by the elbow, before offering me his free arm. “Shall we?”


	11. Maitimo

“Coming Nelyo?” Tyelko pops his head around my door, without knocking, Macalaurë following close behind.

“Coming where?” I answer, distracted. I am towelling my hair dry, having just washed off the last of the dirt of the road after helping Atar with the horses. My brothers did not help, and at one time I might have pointedly reminded them of it, but today my mind is elsewhere.

“To Findaráto’s party” says Macalaurë. “Where else? I’m just glad we made it back by today.”

“How could I forget” I answer dryly. “Tyelko’s only been going on about it for the entire trip, or at least whenever Atar was out of earshot.”

“Findekáno might be there” puts in Tyelko, raising an eyebrow and grinning knowingly at me.

“No he won’t.” I run my fingers through my hair, before slipping a clean white shirt over my head. It feels good to be home at last, but in the last few days I have missed Findekáno enough to leave me with a sharp ache in my chest, the pain even more acute than I would have expected. “I told him I would go and see him today, if we returned in time, and we have. He’ll be at home.”

Macalaurë shrugs. “Suit yourself. You know where we’ll be if the two of you want to come and…” he smirks. “Well, I suppose you’ll be a bit busy.”

“Keep your voice down” I grumble, for Carnistir’s bedroom is just down the corridor. But my words are lost as Tyelko shrugs, dragging our brother out the door with him. Macalaurë gives me a half-hearted little wave and smile as they go.

For my part, I care little what my brothers get up to tonight. All I can think about is Findekáno, and how I will slip out of the door and walk to Tirion, to his house high on the hill… I tug at strand of my hair, biting my lip in anticipation as I think of his kisses, his inexperienced but enthusiastic touches, his moans… his words whispered in my ear, his confession of love… Once I am dressed, I stand at the door of my room for a while, momentarily beset by gnawing doubt once more. It feels almost unreal, as if I would see Findekáno again and would realise that I had imagined it all, that none of it had been true and we would be back to the way we had had been before, except with Findekáno laughing at me for being silly enough to think something like that had happened. Or worse, that he would hate me, be digusted by me… but these thoughts pass as quickly as they had come, flashing by like a summer storm, for I know what we shared. The night of the ball and our conversation the next day under the tree was no dream. And so, though my heart is pounding absurdly hard in my chest, I quietly let myself out of the house and begin the journey to Tirion.

 

\--------

 

All of the gold has ebbed from the sky by the time I arrive at the house. I stand there at the gate for a while, looking up at the windows wearily. There is a light at the one I know to be Ñolofinwë and Anairë’s bedroom, but Findekáno’s room is dark, the window closed for once. Usually, I know, he likes to keep it open on warm nights like this, the light curtains lifted by the night breeze. I frown.

“He’s not here” says a voice behind me. I whirl around, startled, already stammering for an excuse as to why I am simply standing here staring at the house. For a moment I see no one, but then a barefoot girl in a white nightdress slips from the shadows of a tree, smiling at me for all the world as if she knows every secret I have ever tried to keep. And yet I cannot help but feel relief at the sight of her.

“Irissë” I breathe. “You startled me. What are you doing out of bed – and out of the house for that matter – at this time of night?”

She smirks. “I saw there was a mysterious stranger poking about the bottom of the garden. My older brothers aren’t here, so it falls to me to defend my parents and baby brother from any... _reprehensible ruffians_ that come calling.” Her eyes glitter with laughter. “Don’t look like that, sweet cousin Nelyo. There’s no big mystery. Finno and Turno went to the midnight party in uncle Arafinwë’s parkland at the foot of the hill, with Findaráto.”

“They went to… _Findaráto_ …?” I am at a loss, but Irissë interrupts me, sounding resentful.

“I wanted to go too, but Turno took it into his head to _forbid_ me. Said I’m too young, of all the stupid reasons, and if he saw me there he would tell Amil and Atar, and they wouldn’t let me go riding for weeks, possibly even months.” She glares at me sourly. “Just wait until I’m older. He won’t be able to tell me what to do then.”

“No” I answer, distracted. “Irissë, are you sure Findekáno went with them?”

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it? He was dressed in green, and Turno in red, and Findaráto in some ridiculous purple and gold outfit. Finno had his harp, and I suppose he was going to sing and drink and dance and kiss people, like they all do.” She sounded so resentful that at any other time, I would have laughed, but affectionately, telling her that there would be plenty of time for her to do all that in a few years. Now, though, I am too distracted, my mind racing. Could he have thought that just because I had to go I had got cold feet over the whole thing? That I didn’t want to see him? Could he be looking for someone else? Surely not. And yet the doubts are returning, creeping back from the dark corners of my mind into which they had fled, or at least I thought they had.

“I suppose this is the part where you go and look for him” says Irissë tonelessly, clearly bored by the entire situation.

I eye her warily, wondering how much she knows or has guessed, for Irissë is remarkably perceptive for her age. Sometimes alarmingly so. She gives me a rather enigmatic smile, and then a little push down the path, away from the house. “Go on, Nelyo.”

I look at her, wondering what it means. “Thank you Irissë” I say absently, and start off down the hill.


	12. Findekáno

The walled garden is near the base of the hill of Túna, and although it has been closed for the night, we can hear sounds already as we approach, and see the many-coloured points of light from the multitude of covered lanterns and lampstones that have been strung through the branches of the trees that line the perimeter. I hear the first strains of a dancing tune drifting towards us on the warm evening air, and a peal of laughter.

“For a supposedly secret gathering” says Turukáno dryly, “it’s not very secret, is it?”

Findaráto, however, ignores him, for he is scouting the wall for handholds with which to climb, running his fingers along the gaps between the stones.

“And anyway, why can’t we just use the gate?” asks Turukáno, voicing the thought that had been going through my own head, “it’s not as if your family doesn’t own this garden, anyway.”

It was true, the garden belonged to the house of Arafinwë, but when Findaráto’s parents spent a week or a season in Alqualondë and left him in charge of their household, Findaráto seemed to lose no time in cheerfully abusing that privilege, while somehow maintaining his reputation as a model son, prince and elder brother when they returned. Although to my knowledge he had never attempted such an ambitious act of subterfuge as inviting what sounded like half the young people in Tirion to drink and dance and be merry before. That, I supposed, was enough of a feat in itself, but I had the distinct impression that Findaráto could quite easily have got his hands on the key to the garden at the foot of the hill if he had chosen to. He probably had it already, but I have long had my suspicions that all the secrecy is an affectation to increase the levels of intrigue associated with the whole enterprise, and thus to increase the savour of it for the guests.

We climb the wall (I strap my harp to my back, but it is still an inelegant and humiliatingly clumsy process, although my ankle has healed now) and find ourselves in a familiar grassy glade, in which people are beginning to cluster. Most are young, and many are the sons and daughters of the lords of the court, debonaire and fashionable types with little better to do than look glorious, get drunk and thoroughly humiliate themselves. Or so I had scornfully thought once, before Findaráto had brought me here and I became one of them.

Now, I am not entirely sure what to think, but luckily I am not given the chance to dwell on the matter. I am immediately swept off to the area cleared as a rudimentary dance floor to accompany Findaráto, who is singing tonight. On the way we pass Angaráto who is tapping a keg of golden wine and pouring a glass for a pretty sandy-haired girl, and then one for himself. He nods cheerfully at us, and Findaráto goes over to the table and pours the three of us our own cups. I sip half-heartedly, making conversation when it is required and wishing with all my heart that Maitimo were here with me. Finally there are calls for music; more people are arriving and the dance floor is getting crowded. A few fiddlers have started up already, but, as Findaráto says a little too loudly, they all came to dance to the song of the heir of the house of Arafinwë. I say nothing to that; it is probably true, but I am not in the mood today to inflate Findaráto’s ego even more.

Somewhere along the way from the drinks table to the dancefloor, I notice, we lose Turukáno, but before I can point this out Findaráto is singing some scales to warm up, and I am left to hurriedly try to make a guess at the key he will begin in.

I play for hours, and Findaráto sings as the final gold of Laurelin ebbs from the sky to be replaced by silver. We have done this before; we have our own little repetoire of mostly romantic ballads and comic songs that we perform to entertain guests in the palace sometimes, although more often than not Macalaurë sings and plays too, easily overshadowing the both of us. It should be, I know, a chance to prove ourselves while the attention is not concentrated on the greatest musician of our people. But tonight all the romantic lyrics inevitably remind me of Maitimo, all the doomed lovers in the songs being transmuted into him and me, in different lives played out on far off shores, in stories that swarm in my head and distract me to the point of almost losing concentration on the music, earning me a few sharp looks from Findaráto and the guests as I miss a few entries.

Finally though, the crowd in their bright clothes begin to drift apart, to drink more, perhaps. Everyone is in their finery tonight I notice, even those who look as though they only have one set of clothes. There are calls for dance music; the guests grow impatient, and Findaráto looks more than a little put out. I, for my part, will be glad for a rest and a drink, although I still do not feel in the mood for much talk, let alone dancing.

The fiddlers have started up again as Findaráto places a glass of strong cider in my hand, and gives one to Turukáno. My brother sniffs the contents of his suspiciously, while I take a sip. It is cider flavoured with strawberries, and it causes me a sudden, renewed stab of longing for Maitimo as it brings back the vivid memory of the taste of strawberries on his lips, that evening it had all changed… _or had it changed? Perhaps we had simply seen how things were all along, how they were meant to be…_

I let Findaráto and Turukáno’s easy conversation wash over me without paying much attention to their words, drinking in the sights and sounds of people enjoying themselves all around us. Some are dancing, and I watch the swirl and spin of coloured robes and tunics and dresses for a while, and listen to the insistent fiddle music. The night is warm and fragrant, and I feel a little calmer than I did earlier, as the drink steadies my nerves somewhat. I suppose that whatever happens, Maitimo will arrive back in Tirion soon, and in the meantime I may as well enjoy the evening. At some point, Findaráto excuses himself to go ask someone for a dance, I suppose. The dancing is growing faster now, the rhythm driving, uncompromising. People are switching partners and stealing kisses, and even as I watch I see a steady stream of breathless, giggling couples leave the clearing, everything from hand in hand to twined around each other and stumbling over each other’s feet in their haste. I wonder briefly if Maitimo and I looked had looked like that, that night at the palace that seems almost as surreal as if I had dreamed it. And then, as quickly as it had come, my good mood is disappearing as I start to miss him again, deeply and agonisingly now.

Turukáno seems to almost be enjoying himself now, I think, simply sitting here and watching. He goes to pour himself another drink. At that moment a group of girls appear out of the happy fray that the dancefloor has become and one of them grabs Turukáno by the sleeve, hushing his muttered protests with a kiss on the cheek, and he is soon dancing too, a small smile crossing his face for the first time tonight. I smile to myself.

At some point I see Findaráto leaving the group; he is not alone. One of his arms is entwined with a golden-haired, freckled woman’s, and she is whispering in his ear and pinching his backside, making him yelp and giggle. On his other side is a tall man with the silver curls typical of the Teleri, tall and willowy and brown-skinned. Findaráto is kissing him as they walk, whilst his arm winds about the woman’s waist. The three of them seem to be heading into the shadows of the trees surrounding the small glade in which the dancing is being held. I raise an eyebrow, amused.

Suddenly, Angaráto is at my side grinning as he watches his brother leave, clearly somewhat drunk.

“A song!” he exclaims. “They’re asking for a song!”

“The fiddlers are playing for the dance” I say slowly, looking around.

“Yes, but they want a _song!_ ” laughs Angaráto.

“Alright, then sing them one.”

“Not me!” he says, “and Ingo seems to be thoroughly… occupied at the moment.” He prods me towards the front of the crowd, some of whom are still dancing although many have dispersed into the surrounding trees and bushes now.

After a moment, I find myself standing in front of them, people craning over each other’s heads to get a look at me.

“A love song!” calls someone, and there is a general cry of approval. “Sing us a love song fit for a prince!” cries another, amid shouts of “Findekáno!” and “Sing, sweet Prince Finno!”

I lick my lips, every love song I have ever known immediately vanishing from my head. The fiddlers and Angaráto, (who seems to have got hold of my own harp and is already plucking some chords, although I did not even know he played) are all looking at me expectantly. Hastily, I attempt to recall all the lovesick poetry I have ever heard, but all that comes to mind is Maitimo’s face. The memory of the smell in the air and the heady excitement and intrigue of that night at the palace, the night of the ball. It is tremendously distracting. A tune finally catches in my head, a slow, bittersweet melody that I have not heard in years, completely inappropriate for a dance and a merry gathering. Still, I try to grasp at it, to pin it down. Then there are words, coming to me unbidden, and I begin to sing, quietly at first, but growing louder with every note. 

“The night was bright and silver lit the air,  
With star-bejewelléd firmament above,  
And yet, I fear, I cannot count them fair,  
For next to you, they pale and fade, my love.

A wicked curse was laid on me that day,  
Entangled in your arms, love’s silken chains,  
Did twine about us tight, and so I pray,  
My path upon this earth with yours remains.

Yet even should, capriciously, you choose,  
My heart to shatter in thy perfect hands,  
Sweet memory at least I will not lose,  
‘Til Taniquetil touch the Outer Lands.

But now, for lest of nights we have but this,  
Come set my heart afire with a kiss.” 

The song ends, and I realise that I am looking up at the silver-washed sky rather than at the crowd, and furthermore I am surprised to find there are tears starting in my eyes. Blinking them back hastily, I force a smile and look out at the watchers, who have fallen silent, despite their earlier cheer and rowdiness. I stare at their faces, and see wonder there, and joy, and not a few of the eyes that gaze back at me are sparkling with silent tears too. Then there is a shout of a approval, and the girl I saw with Angaráto earlier begins to cheer, and suddenly there is applause and laughter and more cries of approval, then toasts being called to me, and to love and to laughter and wine and music. Angaráto and the sandy-haired girl are in each other’s arms kissing passionately after only a scant moment, as are other couples, practically everyone left in the clearing… but before I can have time to miss Maitimo, my little audience of friends and acquaintances is sweeping me towards them, pushing to hug me, kiss my cheeks and my lips and ruffle my hair and praise my singing. I do not push them away, for I feel giddy, intoxicated with hope rather than drink. Hope that my words may well come true for me yet, and a heady sense of well-being as much as anything else.

Someone is pressing a cup of wine into my hands and calling another toast, and I drink deeply along with them, my face aching with smiles by now. The wine is tastes like someone’s home-made slightly sour fruit juice, but right now I do not mind a bit. Suddenly, I feel more at ease with the world, the day’s tense restlessness receding. Maitimo is still in my thoughts, but I feel triumphant, bold, and anything that may stand between us seems but a small impediment.

Suddenly I feel a light tug on my sleeve. “You sing beautifully, Fin,” says a voice, quiet but demanding attention. “You don’t do it often enough.”

I whirl around. “ _Maitimo?_ ”


	13. Maitimo

“Was it about…” I am afraid to finish the sentence.

“Of course it was about you!” He rolls his eyes, laughter starting at the corners of his gloriously sensual mouth. “For Eru’s sake Maitimo, who else do you think I would be singing about?”

I look down into Findekáno’s face as he stands with his back to a tree, just at the side of the main clearing, and as I do, doubts assault me once more. His song had torn at my heart as I listened, truly, and I had felt the melody take flight in my mind as I realised it was me he was singing to, although he hadn’t even known I was there. But the words had seemed to apply to someone else, some perfect paragon that was most definitely not me. _Or is that how he sees me? Can it be? Or is he simply young and idealistic and in love?_   These were not the thoughts I had anticipated would be going through my mind at this moment.

“Maitimo” says Findekáno, interrupting my thoughts. He takes my hands in his discretely, if indeed anyone would notice here. “You’re thinking that you couldn’t possibly deserve those things I said about you, aren’t you, you sweet deluded fool?”

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out, which he correctly interprets as confirmation of his words.

He glances over his shoulder, before kissing me, swiftly on the lips. It feels strange to have to hide here, of all places, but these gatherings are breeding grounds for gossip and he knows as well as I do what ruin we would bring on our family and ourselves if it got out that we two princes, of all people, had been spotted kissing or more amongst the trees. It pains me to think that we may never be truly free.

“I meant ever single word” he says quietly.

“I know you did. I just hope you know that I’m not - ”

“Not what? Not perfect?” He frowns. “I could argue with you, but I’m not going to. You’re far too stubborn, and it won’t do any good at all.” He ducks as I gently swipe at his arm, laughing a little, and dodges to the side before continuing. ”Not the lover of the poet who wrote the song? Good.” He gives me a roguish grin. “Because you’re mine.”

I cannot resist leaning forward to kiss him, pulling him behind a tree to afford us a scant bit more cover. “I missed you, Fin” I tell him.

He raises an eyebrow, but he looks as though he is trying to suppress that broad, infectious grin of his. “How was your trip?”

“Seemingly endless.”

“Well, you’re back now.” He slips his arms about my waist.

“Fin…” I kiss him quickly, deeply, and his mouth tastes sweet. So very sweet, and I am not quite sure if I imagine the taste of strawberries.

When we draw apart, there is a small smile playing about his lips. “Why Maitimo, did you not make a promise to my mother that you would stop me doing anything dangerous or adventurous? And look where I am. _Anything_ could happen. I think you must take me home immediately. It’s the only way.”

I frown, trying to look disapproving, but, I suspect, failing spectacularly. “I do not quite think that was the sort of thing she had in mind.”

“No, probably not, but it _is_ what _I_ have in mind. My mother simply failed to be specific.”

I kiss the back of his hand formally, a little mockingly. “My dear prince Findekáno, who am I to gainsay you.”

 

\---------

 

He doesn’t let go of my hand all the way to his house at the top of the hill, through the narrow, winding, lamplit alleys that the light of Telperion does not reach. All along the elegant, sloping boulevards that sweep across the hill of Túna, past taverns and closed-up shops and the very gates of the palace itself, he never lets go of my hand. We do not speak as we walk, but his fingers are warm and I can hear the song he sang echoing in my head even now, as if he were singing still.  

The windows of his home are dark again when we approach, for it is late now, I realise. I squint in the direction of the Trees _. Almost morning._

We let ourselves in through the side door that leads to the courtyard and kitchen garden. Findekáno catches my nervous look at the windows of the house and gives me a lopsided grin. “We can climb in through my window if it makes you feel any better.”

“No!” I say hastily, remembering my promise and getting the distinct impression that Anairë’s approval is tenuous enough as it is. “We really do not need to do that, trust me.”

He presses my back against the stone wall of the house and kisses me, briefly, oh so briefly, but for as long as he dares.

“Let’s go inside” my voice is rough when he breaks the embrace, husky, for those sweet lips have awakened lust within me again, surging up sudden and hot and urgent. “Now.”

In answer, Findekáno places his hand on my thigh and hustles me through the door, arm around my neck and kissing my ear as we go, heedless of anyone who may be watching.

Nevertheless, it will not do simply to reach Findekáno’s room, for his brothers’ and sister’s rooms all face onto the same corridor. Instead we climb to a small loft space built into the slant of the roof, with a skylight through which we can see silver-washed sky above. The corner is filled with old boxes and furniture that is not currently in use in the house, and I see Findekáno’s wide blue eyes light on an old divan covered by a dust sheet and squashed into the corner, his mouth quirking upwards in a tiny smile. It is only once the trapdoor is closed behind us that Findekáno falls into my arms, holding me tightly to his chest for a long moment, before I gently cup his cheeks in my hands and kiss him once more. Then he is pushing me backwards so I am sitting on the divan and he is astride me, his mouth hot and urgent, running along my jaw and over my collarbone. Suddenly, I let out an explosive sneeze, as the dust we have stirred up gets in my nose and mouth, and Findekáno bursts into quickly stifled laughter, looking up at me. His mirth is infectious and I cannot help but laugh too, with joy and wonder at the surreality of the situation, despite everything.

Findekáno, meanwhile, has returned to kissing my chest, and I hold him close to me, inhaling the smell of his hair as it tickles my face, trying desperately not to sneeze again. I tremble a little under his touch, arching my body upwards towards his while he unbuttons my shirt and I hold him by the waist and pull him into a position where there is maximum friction between the twin bulges in the front of our breeches. Findekáno moans quietly and I can feel the heat rising in my face at the sound, fire surging through my whole body to tingle at the ends of my fingers and coil in my groin.

“I want you” he whispers in my ear, his voice thick. “You know how, Maitimo. Will you… would you…”

“Yes” I whisper in his ear, brushing his hair back, running my fingers through the intoxicating thick dark curls. “Yes.”

We tug clumsily at each other’s clothes, whilst our heads bump up against the slanted ceiling of the loft, low in this corner. I pull Findekáno’s head down close to mind, wrapping a protective arm around him. I am just beginning to think this would have been easier in Findekáno’s bedroom, when Findekáno is naked out top of me, and I catch my breath at the sight of him, astonishing even myself with my ability to fall in love all over again. I want to kiss every inch of his smooth golden skin, and then go back and do it all over again. Findekáno is getting impatient though, his kisses hurried, his hands clumsy as they slip over my body.

He pulls my own breeches off over my feet while I fumble at the pocket of the rumpled jacket I had been wearing, for I had brought with me a small, flat flask filled with oil… my hand closes around it, and when Findekáno sees what I have got he smiles a wicked smile. “Came prepared, did you Maitimo?”

I can feel my cheeks burning even brighter. “Well, I had hoped…”

“So had I. More than anything, these last few weeks.”

I am about to reply when he kisses me again, one hand in my hair, the other wrapped around my cock, making me gasp. I turn us over, lying him gently down atop our crumpled pile of clothes, so that I am above him as I prepare him. I try to be gentle, but I can see his face twitching and trembling at the new sensations, and it is with some slight unease that I finally push myself inside him, leaning over him and giving the side of his face a soft, brushing kiss. Findekáno clasps my hand while I rock my hips into him, his fingers twined through mine.

“Mai-Maitimo” he whispers at some point, reaching out to me with his other hand. I grasp it tightly in my own. My body seems to glow as I thrust inside him, my mind spinning and whirling somewhere quite removed from this moment, this moment that I never quite thought would be real, and yet in another sense all of me is here, in this moment, this instant of time with Findekáno. I stroke his cock with one hand and press his body close to my own with the other, as close as we can get. Findekáno tips his head back, hair spilling out across the seats, black shot with bright gold. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes half-closed.

As he comes he lets out a little whining sound that might be my name again, half-formed this time, but whatever it is it makes me kiss him fiercely, pressing myself into him, my ardour flaring up within me, and I follow not long after.

Afterwards we lie entangled in each other’s arms, atop a nest of our shed clothes, for a long while. My head is tilted forwards so that it rests on Findekáno’s shoulder, our legs twined together.

Through the skylight, I can see only a thin slice of sky from this angle, but I glimpse stars all the same, beneath the silver wash of Telperion. The words of the song Findekáno sang run through my head. _The night was bright and silver lit the air, with star-bejewelléd firmament above…_ But there is gold just beginning to creep into that little section of sky too, I notice, my heart sinking.

“Thinking about how you’ll have to leave in the morning?” says Findekáno, twisting a lock of my hair around the smallest finger of his left hand. I kiss the tip of it, and then his other fingers, one by one.

“I was” I admit.

He smoothes my hair back from my face, letting the locks slip lazily through his fingers, before glancing at the colour of the sky. “The night is passing and I daresay the day will come soon. But we still have time before that.”

I smile. “Yes. Yes we do.”


	14. Maitimo

The days pass into weeks, and thing that surprises me is how little changes between the two of us. The stories one hears as a child end when the hero has found their love; it’s never mentioned what happens afterwards. And yet, on a day to day basis the lives that Findekáno and I lead together and individually are much the same as they ever were. (I do not care to speculate on what this may indicate, at least not yet.)

We sit side by side in tedious councils at the palace as ever, we tease each other and Findekáno complains about my brothers. We go to the public baths in Tirion (although now we are more conscious than ever of keeping the distance between us on the large side of what is considered proper for close friends, as much as it pains us) and we go to the theatre and wait to congratulate Macalaurë outside the stage door afterwards. We go to the weekly salons that aunt Lalwendë runs; the tone of debate, I cannot help but notice, grows more polarised into factions by the week. Clearer divisions are starting to emerge between my father’s supporters and Ñolofinwë’s on every topic, even the ones scarcely related to politics. It worries me, but I do not tell Findekáno this, for I am not precisely certain what I am worried about.

But, more or less, life returns to a surprisingly normal state, despite what we have found together. Perhaps it is because of it that the divide seems to bother me less than it should, my heart borne up by our scant stolen moments of happiness. Of course we argue, quite as fiercely as we always did. Although now our fights, if not any more stinging, have a new quality to them, a different flavour that I cannot quite put my finger on.

But there is another thing that has not changed, and that is that neither of us can bear to be angry at the other for long. Soon enough, one of us – usually me - always comes to the other and apologises through gritted teeth, and then we are silent for a while, before our hands brush, very, very gently. We talk; I find it by turns endearing and faintly disturbing how much Findekáno appears to have missed me during those few days in between when we had not spoken, and yet more often than not he still cannot humble his pride quite enough to seek me out. _And they call me the proud one._

After that things progress much as one would expect for lovers reconciled after an argument; from the whispered words of forgiveness and that first tentative brush of our fingers, to soft kisses, to touches and caresses; all too often though, we are not alone, or there is someone in the house who may hear us, or we are in a public place that will not be deserted for long. Someone could be watching and would recognise the eldest sons of Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë, and then we would surely lose everything.

Only when the circumstances are exactly right, can we snatch our moments alone. We travel; we go to Alqualondë, to the forests beyond Tirion, we spend whole days together when we can get away from prying eyes. We did it before, so it does not appear out of the ordinary I suppose. But Findekáno, I can tell, is as sick at heart as I am over all the hiding, all the subterfuge and relentless watchfulness that is required of us to maintain propriety and the reputations of our houses.

I travel with my father and brothers too; the frequency and length of our trips increases as Atar’s restlessness grows, and we travel a little further into the wild lands beyond Formenos each time we go, sketching new paths and contours on the edges of the map.

But Atar is not the only one who is restless. Findekáno misses me awfully when I am gone, I can tell without having to ask, and the way he paces as I tell him of the trips… he talks of travelling too, sometimes, we talk of it together, and sometimes we do travel. But it never seems to be enough for Findekáno and we always return to Tirion vaguely disappointed to be home, and not only because we must necessarily see less of each other and put up our pretences again as our court duties dictate. I know what he wants; he wants a chance to be something else, someone else, to live in a wider open world. Tirion is claustrophobic, even to me, and sometimes I look at Findekáno and see someone who wants to run. To run and barely even think of where he’s going until the Treelight fades to a glimmer at his back and the wind lifts his hair and he is out of breath but smiling. Is it me that keeps him here? Of course it is not; it is everything, our whole lives that have been so neatly arranged but have grown close around us. And yet, when I return from one of my trips with my brothers, windblown and tired but cheerful, I cannot help but feel guilty when I see a momentary flash of envy, of longing and resignation, cross Findekáno’s beautiful face before it breaks into a grin at the sight of me.

The summer is passing, and one day I return from one of my family’s trips missing Findekáno somewhat more acutely than usual. It is threatening to rain, the clouds lowering close above the Trees, starkly lit from below with the golden light of Laurelin. The air is thick and humid, and the dust of the road rises up and clings to me as I make the familiar journey to Tirion. When I am about halfway, the rain comes at last, huge, heavy drops splashing into the dust and turning it to thick brown mud. It is at least slightly comforting though, and I raise my sweat-sticky face to receive it, smiling a little as the voluminous drops explode against my skin. The rain is warm, warm as the blood that runs beneath my skin, and it soaks into my hair, slicking it against the sides of my face, the water running through it in rivulets and turning the red to dark brown. When I was younger and it rained, I remember, I used to pretend my hair was black like Atar's and Haru's. I had hoped desperately that it would grow darker as I grew older; I loved my mother, but I had longed to look like them, more than anything.

Now though, I simply shake the wet hair from my eyes, putting the memory from my mind.

Anairë lets me into the house with a tut at the state of me, demanding that I take off my boots and my sodden travelling cloak before I even cross the threshold. But as usual, she also has a warm smile and a hug to spare for me, brushing back my wet hair from my face and fussing over me in consternation. And yet there is something else in her eyes, a cloud passing across her face… I do not quite know what to think of that, and perhaps it is my imagination anyway.

I find Findekáno in the library, curled in a chair with his feet bare and his knees drawn up beneath his chin, scrutinising a sheaf of papers. His face is twisted in a frown as he reads. I feel a sudden sense of foreboding.

“Findekáno?”

He looks up at me, his blue eyes taking in my wet travelling clothes and my hair that is probably dripping on the carpet even as I stand there, as well as my generally dishevelled appearance.

“Maitimo.” He smiles, but it is a distracted smile, as troubled as his mother’s.

“What… what are you reading?” I gesture at the papers he had been so absorbed in.

He stands up, gathering the sheets in his arms and walks towards me. “A report” he says slowly. “You have been away a while Maitimo. You’ve missed some things.”

My heart beats a little faster in apprehension, although I do not quite know what it is about his tone that causes it. “What things?”

He looks at the papers. “There has been an incident... a disturbance of the peace. Several actually, although this time the perpetrators were actually caught, and it was confirmed to be politically motivated.”

There is a slight sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, for I think I can just glimpse now where this is going.  “What happened? Who is responsible?”

“There were three of them, and they were distributing pamphlets in the taverns at the bottom of the hill” he says.

“So? People distribute pamphlets all the time, about all sorts of outlandish things.”

“Their views on the Valar were somewhat…” he casts about for the right word. “Unconventional. Extreme. Heretical. And then a fight broke out. No one can agree on who started it, but you can imagine the logical conclusion to jump to.”

I sigh. “If they are truly such a problem, let Haru send them to Taniquetil before Manwë if he does not want to judge them himself. Either way, they will be dealt with fairly.”

“Maitimo…” he looks pained. “The three of them were wearing eight-pointed star armbands.”

My fingers go involuntarily to the eight-pointed star cut into the buttons of my faded old travelling waistcoat. “I… Fin, my father had no part in this, if that’s what you think. Do you really suppose he’s sending out his…” I struggle to find words, “…  _agitators_ into the streets of Tirion? Do you really think he would have them distribute pamphlets against the Valar?”

“I don’t know what to think” says Findekáno quietly.

“Findekáno, my father is a student of Aulë, as is my mother, as are her parents. Curvo will be sent to his halls soon enough, and Tyelko is part of Oromë’s hunt. Macalaurë is a favourite of Ulmo. Do you really think that Atar… any of us… could be behind this?"

“You tell me, Maitimo. A man got his arm broken when he fell down the stairs. Another was hurt in a fist fight with one of these people.”

“Well obviously I’m sorry for that, but Fin… they’re probably just using my father’s name and heraldry as a way to get some attention. Who are these people anyway? I probably won’t even recognise the names.”

Findekáno gave me a long look before he read off the paper. “Artalaurë, of the house of Anarillë, Mírilindë of the house of Lindorien… wasn’t she Macalaurë’s friend?” He gives me an accusatory look. “And Carnimeldë, of the house of Mahtan. Your cousin.”

I draw in a breath, for I know all of those names well. Carnimeldë is indeed the daughter of my mother’s sister, a contrary girl with a loud voice, a quick laugh and a shock of wild red curls. Artalaurë was briefly one of my father’s apprentices, a devoted youth, but somewhat careless and prone to moods, without the temperament or patience to make a craftsman. Mírilindë is one of Macalaurë’s friends, or at least that was how I first got to know her; she worked backstage at the theatre. The two of them had grown together and were, at times at least, nigh inseperable. But I can feel myself blushing as I wonder how much Findekáno knows, for Mírilindë and I had had a brief but passionate night together many years ago. It had been a bit of fun at the time really, and we had parted on good terms. I still see her sometimes with Macalaurë, and I had never felt any regret until now, for no hearts had been broken or even damaged in the slightest until this precise moment. Somehow he knows, I am certain of it. _But of course, if he has been making enquirie_ s... I look at Findekáno, his eyes wide and blue as he looks up at me, as though he is daring me to prove his suspicions wrong and at the same time desperately hoping I will tell him he is imagining things. He looks so desperately vulnerable all of a sudden, and so young. But I cannot lie to him.

“I… Findekáno. You know I know these people. Carnimeldë is my cousin, a closer relative to me than you are, but I will not try to defend her actions. Artalaurë I cannot speak for. Mírilindë… I hold her in high esteem, I would say. She is Macalaurë’s best friend, and as to our…" I gesture helplessly. "You must believe me when I say it wasn’t love. You knew, Fin, that there had been others for me. You knew it from the beginning. It doesn't mean anything.”

“Oh yes, I knew that there have _been_ _others for you_ , as you put it. But not all of them have started political agitation and fistfights in Tirion. They were spreading viscious lies about my father too, saying he was plotting with the Valar to subjugate us all.”

I start. I suppose I should have expected Ñolofinwë to be brought up at some point in all this. Suddenly I feel rage flare up within me.

“And you think I condone this? Because they were wearing my father’s sigil on their arms without his knowledge or permission?”

“As far as you know. Does he tell you everything?”

“Eru, Fin, and they call _him_ the suspicious one…”

“Don’t you even _dare_ compare me to him!”

I grit my teeth. “No, of course, I wouldn’t make that mistake; clearly you’re not made of the same stuff as - ”

He hits me, sharp across the jaw, so hard that stars explode before my eyes. I stagger back, more surprised than anything else, feeling the sharp sting in my mouth and tasting the tang of blood where I have bitten my tongue.

“I…”

“Maitimo…” his face is pained and he reaches out his hand towards me. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

I stand still, not going to him, blood on my lips.

“You’re away so much and it’s always him first, before me, always and it always will be…” his words come in a rush. “And then when I found out about this, and about Mírilindë and you, I was just…”

“It wasn’t love, Fin” I add hastily. “I was barely older than you are now. I couldn’t have - ” I break off as his face grows stormy and I realise what I have said. “No. No, no Fin, I didn’t mean…”

“No” he says, turning his face away to hide the colour rising in his cheeks. “I know exactly what you meant, Maitimo.” He picks up the stack of papers from where they have slipped from the chair to the floor and squares them off neatly before placing them on the table.

“Findekáno. You have to listen…”

He looks at me expectantly. “I’m listening.”

“Can we just… not have this argument? Because we both know this isn’t about Mírilindë, or Carnimeldë or Artalaurë, or the Valar, or even my father and yours, particularly. It’s about you and me, and you know that I love you and you love me. And you know that we both make mistakes, we both say things… things we don’t mean.” I take a deep breath, running my fingers through my wet hair which is still sticking to my forehead, still dripping on the carpet. It feels like an eternity since I came into this room and found Findekáno, but in reality it has only been a few minutes, not even long enough for my hair to dry. “I’m sorry, Fin. I came to see you as soon as I could, because I missed you.”

He sighs in frustration. “Damn you, Maitimo, you dreadful manipulator. I wish I could stay angry at you when I wanted to.”

I smile weakly, relief flooding over me. Tentatively, I raise my hand toward him. “I promise you, I knew nothing about these pamphlets, and neither did my father, as far as I know.”

He does not take my hand, although his eyes linger on it, rather than my face.

“I brought you a gift” I tell him, not dissuaded by his silence. “It’s a gold nugget, from a seam we found in a gorge near Formenos. I though it would be the only piece of uncast gold in Tirion, which might be worth a look at least,” I laugh a little, “and so I brought some back to show you, before Atar gets some people to help him mine the seam in ernest.”

I rummage in my pocket for the strangely beautiful twisted mass of gold, but as I pull it out, something else falls out and rolls across the floor, landing at Findekáno’s feet. He looks down at it, frowning, then picks it up and scrutinises the dull grey mass as I close my fist around the gold nugget.

“Iron ore?” he asks.

“Yes. I forgot I had that sample there too. Atar found it, the best source we’ve discovered yet, and he says it will make the best steel that has ever graced Aman, no, the world. The sharpest edge, the toughest plate, the brightest silver sheen…”

“Maitimo” Findekáno stares between me and the iron ore sample clutched in his hand, in a combination of distaste and something that might be fascination. “Is this… is Fëanáro doing what I think he’s doing?”

 _Perhaps I have said too much._ “That depends on what you think he’s doing.”

“Don’t be coy with me. He’s forging weapons, isn’t he?”

I purse my lips. “And armour. It's not as if he's never... he's just inventing new alloys! Nothing to worry about.”

"You really believe that?" He stares at me. “Maitimo… this… you know this only adds support to those who think your father is plotting against mine, don’t you?”

“Fin, it’s not like our house is going to attack yours or anything like that. There’s not going to be a war.” I lick my lips, uncomfortable with the entire subject. "Atar says that everyone should learn to fight. He's going to teach the little ones when they're older, for one never knows what may happen. And Macalaurë and Tyelko and I are learning now. These weapons... in an ideal world we would never have to use them. But - "

"Maitimo. _Maitimo._ Just... don't."

"What?"

Findekáno’s eyes linger on the lump of iron ore for an instant longer, that strange fascination passing over his face again for a moment. Then he sighs and thrusts the piece of ore back into my hands, hastily, roughly, before turning away from me, looking at the ground. His hair, unbraided for once, falls forward, dark curls hiding his face from me. “I think you should go now” he says, so softly that I almost miss it.

I stretch out my hand to touch his shoulder, but change my mind before the motion is fully formed, for I do not think I could stand it if he flinched away from my touch. Instead I stuff both my hands back into my waistcoat pockets and find, to my surprise, that my fingers are trembling a little. I sigh deeply.

“You’re right. Perhaps I should.”


	15. Findekáno

I sit there in the library for a long time after he leaves, staring at nothing and running it over in my head again and again until I want to scream. Finally there is a quiet knock at the door, and before I can answer, my mother is entering in a swirl of blue fabric, Arakáno on her hip. She sits down beside me and pulls me to her in a wordless hug, stroking my hair, Arakáno between us. My little brother clings to the front of my shirt, his small hands bunching into fists in the fabric. “Finno!” he says. “Why are you sad? Don’t be sad, Finno.” I have to smile as he rests his face against my chest, seemingly quite content, a warm weight across our knees. My own cheek is against my mother’s shoulder, and I inhale the scent of her hair, a scent that takes me straight back to my own childhood for a moment. Reluctantly, I draw back from her, finding, to my surprise and annoyance, that there are tears on my face. “Did you hear?” I ask, miserably.

“No, but I did not need to” my mother replies, her eyes resting for a moment on the papers on the seat beside me. “I can guess.” I wonder if she is lying to save my dignity. It scarcely matters, I suppose.

I wipe my face, looking dully up at her and pulling Arakáno closer into my arms as he sucks happily on a lock of my hair. For once I do not try to stop him. My mother regards the two of us critically.

“It’s a dangerous game you and Maitimo play, you know, Finno.” She pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Mothers are supposed to stop their sons from doing dangerous things, and yet here I am.” She spreads her open palms between us. “Sometimes I wonder if I should have…” she stops. “We mothers are not born with the ability to know what is best for our children, however much we may love them.”

“Amil, no. Don’t say that. You’re the best mother anyone could wish for” I tell her, and mean every word of it.

She smiles and kisses my forehead. “Oh Finno. You and Maitimo…” she stops. “I just hate seeing you hurt. More than anything.”

I curl my hand into a fist, remembering how it had felt to hit Maitimo across the jaw, to make him stumble backwards… for a brief instant I had felt satisfaction, but now all I feel is empty, hollow. But the combined effect of my mother’s arms around me, and my smallest brother beginning to doze in my lap is starting to calm me a little. We sit like that for a long while, in silence, listening to Arakáno mumbling and snuffling in his sleep and the rain that still pounds and rattles against the wide window behind us.

 

\--------

 

I do not have to wait long before seeing Maitimo again. Atar brings Turukáno and I with him to court the next morning, and as I follow him, striding purposefully into the entrance hall, I freeze in the doorway. Turukáno, not far behind, inevitably walks into me as I stand there on the threshold.

“ _Ah!_ Finno, watch what you’re – oh.”

He stands beside me as we watch the scene that is unfolding in the hall. Haru and Fëanáro are arguing in heated but quiet voices, and although I cannot hear what they are saying from this distance their faces and the quick motion of their hands as they speak allow me to make a good guess as to the topic under discussion. Behind Fëanáro and a little way back stands Maitimo, with Tyelko and Macalaurë to his right and left. The argument ceases abruptly when my father appears beside them, and I see Fëanáro give him a curt bow. I cannot see the expression on my uncle’s face, but I picture a sneer of derision and curl my hands into fists.

I watch Maitimo intently. For a moment I think he has not seen me, but then he is turning to face me, catching my eye from the other side of the hall before I can turn away and pretend to have been looking at something else all along. His expression is unreadable. And then he breaks eye contact, looking back to his father. I grit my teeth.

“I do know what you feel for him you know, Finno” says Turukáno from behind me, making me start not only by his words but also because I had quite forgotten he was there.

I turn. “You - ?” I suppose there is little point in pretending not to know what he’s talking about now.

“I know you argued yesterday. I heard you.”

I give a resigned sigh, wondering if there was anyone in my family who had not heard us. “Turno… I can explain…”

“You don’t have to” he says, but before he can say more Atar is gesturing at us to come to his side, for the council is about to begin. And so my brother only manages an apologetic smile, before we are ushered off towards the council chamber.

The day is a long one, packed with meetings and stretched into endlessness by shear mundanity. The one topic not being discussed is the incident in Tirion; that is to be spoken of at length in smaller, more select circles, I suspect. Those that include perhaps only Haru and Fëanáro and my father. As it is, the day is an endless succession of discussion of maintenance to the palace roofs, the resurfacing of the main trade and supply road from Alqualondë, and the potential effects of Fëanáro’s discovery of the new source of iron ore on the price of steel. This last I listen to half-heartedly and slightly uncomfortably. For the other discussions, I simply stare fixedly and resolutely forwards, too distracted to listen to such things on this particular occasion. All the while it seems one could cut the tension between my father and Fëanáro with a knife.

I am in some ways extremely grateful for the things that are not said. Maitimo is seated in his usual place beside me; if either of us had changed positions at the heavy dark wood council table, it would have been remarked upon. Even as I take care to sit still as stone, he fidgets, something I have never known him to do. He tugs at the stitching on his sleeve, he repeatedly straightens his circlet even though it is already perfectly centred atop his copper hair. He drums the fingers of his right hand on the inside of his left wrist. Once or twice, Macalaurë shoots him a questioning look, but Maitimo ignores him. The minutes and hours fairly crawl by.

Finally the lords and ladies of the court are filing out of the doors. Turukáno and I linger for a while, talking, although a moment after I could probably not have told you of what we spoke.

Suddenly we are alone, or at least I think we are, until I see Turukáno looking over my shoulder to someone standing beyond. I do not even need to turn around to see that it is Maitimo. Turukáno gives me a small, pained smile, before slipping past us both and out of the doors of the council chamber, closing them behind him with a quiet click.

“Findekáno.”

I do not turn. “What?”

“Yesterday.”

I roll my eyes to myself, for Maitimo cannot see my face. “Oh, and here I was thinking we were going to talk about the work that must be done on the palace roofs.”

_The roof. Carefully swinging myself down off the ledge that ran along below the windows and down onto the roof of the courtyard. Jumping from the roof down into the cloister and spraining my ankle. Why that memory? Why now?_

“Findekáno.”

I turn to face him this time. “What?”

“It’s only been a day but I’ve missed you more than I ever did when I was away for weeks at a time.”

“I don’t have time for this. Was that a compliment or an insult? Either way, speak plainly.”

“It was neither.”

I stare at him, taking in his braided hair and copper circlet, his heavy dark green velvet waistcoat. The purple bruises at his jawline, the spacing of which loosely corresponds to that of my knuckles. I immediately feel guilty, for I had not meant to hurt him, not really, and even more so when I think about the other contexts in which I had left bruises on his jaw and neck. I had put more force into that punch than I had intended, pouring into it all my frustration at our fathers, at life in Tirion in general, at the whole situation, the air in the city that could ignite at the smallest spark.

“I’m sorry I hit you” I gestured at his face, wondering how he explained away the bruises to his father. Whatever he had said, Fëanáro probably saw through it, although did not, perhaps, know the full extent of his eldest son’s transgressions. I grit my teeth. "Although at least I didn't do any permanent damage to your pretty face."

“I probably deserved it” says Maitimo, laughing hollowly, humourlessly. “I said some things…”

Suddenly I want him back, I want him in my arms more than anything, to bury my face in his thick red hair, to tell him he’s forgiven. “You did” I say instead, my voice stiff.

“…and for that…” he grits his teeth in the way he always does and swings his hands awkwardly at his sides, “I am sorry. Can’t we just make peace now? What I meant to say before, that you said you didn’t have _time for_ , was that I’ve missed you horribly.”

 _And I you._ I step towards him, slowly, tentatively. I hold out my hand to him, cupping his cheek and running my fingers gently over the purple bruise beneath which a cluster of his freckles has been subsumed. He flinches almost imperceptibly, but stays in place, his silver eyes flickering back and forth across my face almost as though he is reading a book.

“This will not end here” I tell him. “I can forgive you. I _will_ forgive you, I know it because I already have. But it won’t end, the divide between our fathers will grow. People will turn against their friends, families will be split, the guilds will flock to declare their support of one of them or the other. And then what is there for us, at the centre of that? What can we do to heal the divide?”

“I don’t know, Fin. Nothing, maybe.”

“I feel as though I’m losing you to your father.”

“ _I_ feel as though I’m losing _you_ to _your_ father!” he counters.

We stare at each other for a long moment.

“What can we _do_ , Maitimo?” I feel the need to do _something_ , to make it better. To solve it. But I do not know how.

He smiles ruefully. “I wish I knew.” Then he gives me a long, intent stare. “We can trust in each other.”

I raise an eyebrow. “ _Can_ we?”

And then suddenly we are in each other’s arms without knowing who has bridged the gap between us. I wrap my arms around his chest and his hair tickles my face as I hold him, eyes closed against the thick green velvet at his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of him, letting his solidity comfort me a little. He draws back, and we look at each other for a long time, a small frown appearing on his brow, before I tilt my head back and he leans forward at the same time, and our lips brush, so very lightly. It is a chaste kiss, but it makes me want to weep with relief, for I had not realised quite how much I fear losing him.

“To answer your question” he says when we break apart. “Perhaps we can, perhaps we can’t. We can try.”

I smile, our foreheads pressed together. “Yes. We can try.”

_A wicked curse was laid on me that day,_  
 _Entangled in your arms, love’s silken chains,_  
 _Did twine about us tight, and so I pray,  
_ _My path upon this earth with yours remains._

The words of the song run through my head, suddenly immediate and pertinent once more. _We can try to trust in each other, because we must._ That’s all we can ever do really.


End file.
